


Handcuffed

by therealfroggy



Category: Prison Break
Genre: First Time, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 12:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: T-Bag didn't handcuff himself to Michael during the escape; he cuffed himself to the only man there with the guts to cut his hand off, precisely so nobody could do that. Then everything goes to hell in a handbasket, and T-Bag and Abruzzi find themselves on the run in the middle of nowhere, literally tied at the wrist.AU after S1E22, obviously. Slow burn enemies to reluctant... something.
Relationships: John Abruzzi/Theodore "T-Bag" Bagwell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 66





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I decided to revive a fandom older than most middle schoolers. Ain't no shame in my game. Also: explicit gay sex scenes >:) Because we need more mature gay goodness and men rediscovering their sexuality in their middle years.

The escape had been going to hell, but not irredeemably so. They were out, minus a few members of the extended escape crew, they were running for their lives, and they were closing in on the airstrip where Abruzzi's plane was waiting for them. A short breather in that old mill, and they were off. John Abruzzi had every intention of shooting T-Bag and ditching the others as soon as the small airplane rolled into sight, and then everything would be right with the world.

Until T-Bag brought out his usual spanner in everybody's works.

_Snick._ The sound of handcuffs closing had never sounded more final to any of the escaped convicts. Four right hands immediately went reflexively to four left wrists, reassuring their owners that that sound was nothing more than a bad memory at this point.

Abruzzi stared at his wrist, the silver of the cuffs glinting tauntingly up at him. The van bumped along and the metallic sounds of the chain linking his wrist to T-Bag's sounded louder than they should have. With an inarticulate roar, he grabbed the other man by the throat.

“Unlock it!”

“Sorry, John boi, ain't got the key,” T-Bag wheezed through Abruzzi's death grip on his neck. The Alabamian was grinning, his teeth glinting dully in the flashes of light from the road outside. “Would-a spoiled the fun.”

Abruzzi let go of T-Bag and reached under the seat for the gun he'd made sure would be there. He hefted the hardware and pressed it against T-Bag's neck. “Don't think I won't shoot you, Bagwell.”

“Fine, drag my pretty corpse all the way through these here woods,” T-Bag sneered. He turned his head so the barrel of the gun was pressed right against his Adam's apple. “They'll catch ya, _paisan_. Won't make it ten feet before they catch ya.”

“Wanna bet?” Abruzzi hissed at the other man, cocking the gun.

“John!” Michael yelled, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. “We'll take care of this later, don't do anything rash!”

Abruzzi snarled, but put the gun away. T-Bag's grin was smug and two hairs short of a shirt, lighting up like crazy all over the place. The bastard thought he'd won. He actually thought John Abruzzi would let this fly.

Road blocks. Dirt roads and mud. The escape truly went to hell after that. Nothing worked in their favour, and nothing seemed to go according to plan. When they scrambled into an old barn, shaking and out of breath, nobody as much as spoke for several minutes. Then Abruzzi straightened up and dragged T-Bag over to pick up an axe he saw leaning against the far wall.

“Link,” he said, holding the axe out to the other man.

Lincoln suddenly looked hesitant. “Dude. What – no. I can't.”

“Come on, you pussy, cut it off!” Abruzzi barked. He would have done it himself, but he was right-handed, and between T-Bag starting to struggle and his left hand shaking with exhaustion, well, he couldn't do it properly.

“John, no, we can fix this,” Michael insisted, approaching the mobster with hands held out in front of him. Trying to calm things down, as always, when what this situation needed was less fucking calm and more fucking anger.

“_Che cazzo_!” Abruzzi snapped. “One of you spineless idiots cut his hand off, right now! We don't need him!”

But the other men, all four of them, just stood there staring at Abruzzi, shaking their heads. Backing away. Heading for the door, slowly.

“Don't you dare, Scofield!” Abruzzi roared.

“Hello?”

Everybody froze. The sound of a shotgun being cocked followed.

“Who's there?”

With silent, desperate gestures, Michael motioned everybody to follow him out the side door. They ran, a strange column of condemned men making desperate efforts. Michael and C-Note were at the front, agile and quick. Lincoln and Sucre followed close behind, one after the other. Abruzzi wasn't as fast as T-Bag, but with the two of them cuffed together, progress was unnecessary slow.

“I will kill you for this, Bagwell,” Abruzzi swore into T-Bag's ear as they stopped to get their bearings after a few minutes. “And it won't be quick.”

T-Bag's tongue darted out, a snake testing the air. “Promises, promises.”

Miraculously, they made it to the airfield – but so did every fucking cop in a hundred mile radius. Just as John heard the engines of an airplane start up, he saw the red and blue lights flashing near the gates at the other end of the airstrip. He yanked on the cuffs and pulled T-Bag after him towards the plane.

“One of you cut his hand off!” Abruzzi roared as they ran.

“No time!” Michael shouted back, and just as they skidded to a halt in front of the plane, the engineer's face fell. “John, you said there'd be room for us!”

“I lied,” Abruzzi snarled, then reached for the door handle. The pilot was making desperate flapping motions with his hands, indicating their urgency. “There's three seats. You, me and Sink, Fish. Cut his hand off and we're out of here.”

T-Bag went very still. They'd all seen that none of the other cons, disappointingly, were capable of cutting a man's hand off under normal circumstances. Under extreme pressure, however...

Michael's eyes hardened. “Everyone goes, John, that was the deal.”

“If more than three people get on that plane, it won't be able to get us out of here,” Abruzzi snapped. “Make your choice, Fish.”

Michael looked at Sucre and Lincoln. “Run!”

And they ran. Just turned tail and ran, flat-out, away from the cop cars wailing behind them. John turned around and saw they were coming closer, were less than a quarter mile away. The matter was out of his hands and he turned to the plane, yanking the door open. He started climbing in, and with just enough awkward struggling, T-Bag got in, too. They slammed the door shut even as the pilot began speeding up.

“Boss?” the pilot yelled over the noise of the engines.

“Just go!” Abruzzi yelled back, throwing himself into a seat on the left side of the plane. “Follow the plan!”

The police cars were trying to surround the plane, but they were gaining too much speed. With a roar, the small aircraft lifted off, climbing steeply into the night. Abruzzi grit his teeth, breathed deeply and tried to calm down. He needed to fix this. He would fix this. They just needed a key, a pair of bolt cutters or a hack saw. Anything would do. His pilot weren't such a useless baby; he'd do as he was told.

Abruzzi yanked T-Bag's wrist closer so he could check on the gun. Four bullets left in the magazine, one in the chamber. If everything else failed, he would shoot through the other man's wrist.

“John,” T-Bag began, but Abruzzi rounded on him.

“Shut your filthy mouth, Bagwell!” he snapped. “You're alive because you're too heavy to carry, but now we're on a plane, where do you think that puts you?”

“Can't shoot in here, John,” T-Bag said, his eyes glittering maliciously at the other man. “Could-a hit somethin'. Somethin' important.”

“We're stopping to refuel later,” Abruzzi dismissed him. “And my pilot actually has the _stugatz_ to do as he's told and kill you.”

T-Bag fell silent, staring at the mobster for several moments. Abruzzi began looking around the plane to see if anything convenient was nearby, like tools or a knife. The plane seemed pretty stripped bare.

“Heading north, boss,” the pilot said, and as the plane banked, Abruzzi took stock of the situation. Right wrist cuffed to Bagwell, healing wound in his neck twinging a little, adrenalin flooding his system so hard he shook. He closed his eyes and swore. God damn Fish and his best laid plans! All of this for nothing, not even Fibbonacci!

As the steady drone of the engine helped him slow his breathing, Abruzzi noticed he also needed to piss. Fantastic. Just what he needed. He could hold it for a while, but when the plane stopped for refuelling he'd have to go. And then he'd be treated to the experience of pissing with another man holding his dick, or close enough not to make a difference.

This escape was not at all shaping up to what it was supposed to be.

***

“Uh, boss?”

“What?” Abruzzi snapped. They'd been in the air for an hour and a half and his ass had fallen asleep. T-Bag was in the seat next to him but the seats were too far apart for either man to really be sitting comfortably. He was uncomfortable, pissed off and antsy. And now his pilot was making noises, definitely sounding too nervous for good news.

“It's, uh, it's the engine. There's something wrong.”

Abruzzi glared. “What?”

“I gotta take her down, boss, before something brings us down. There's an old air strip a ways north of here; it's just across the border. We can stop there, maybe even refuel,” the pilot babbled. “I can fix it, boss, I'm sure.”

“Fine,” Abruzzi snapped. Great. Even better. Why did God hate him?

They landed shortly after, and even Abruzzi could hear some of the noises by then. It wasn't so much a particular sound so much as a change in the sound altogether, and even in his simmering anger John felt better once their wheels touched down. The airfield was a little dirt strip in an open field, an old and clearly abandoned flight tower at one end, completely dark. The landing was bumpy and if it hadn't been for the pilot knowing his way around the area, they would have crashed.

“Search that tower first,” Abruzzi demanded, keeping his gun trained on T-Bag. “Get me something to break those chains or cut his hand off, I don't care which one.”

The pilot left, and John Abruzzi was left in the plane with T-Bag, a gun, and a ridiculously oppressive atmosphere. He focused his glare on the murderer and raised the gun a little. Time to deal with the simplest problem.

“Bagwell.”

“John.”

“We're gonna get up, and we're gonna walk outside to stretch our legs a bit,” Abruzzi said, waving the gun around. “Then you're going to give this gun a blowjob while I take a piss, just to make sure we don't have a problem. And when my pilot comes back, we're getting out of these cuffs and you're a dead man. Capische?”

T-Bag's eyes stayed focused on Abruzzi's the whole while. It was almost unnatural the way the man focused. “How's about you just break the chain and leave lil' ol' me to rot here in the woods? Eh, John? Wouldn't that be easier, now?”

“I don't appreciate people disrespecting me, Bagwell,” Abruzzi hissed. He pressed the gun against T-Bag's throat. “Now move.”

They got out of the plane, T-Bag first, then Abruzzi prodded the smaller man over to the nearest bush so he could take a leak. The trouble was, watching Bagwell and getting his dick out to piss at the same time was difficult. He couldn't manage it without risking the smaller man gaining control of the gun. Abruzzi grit his teeth and decided to hell with it, he was going to kill the man anyway.

“Bagwell. Open my pants, then hold it steady for me.”

T-Bag's eyebrows rose. “Excuse me, _paisan_?”

“I'm not moving this gun out of your face until I've got backup,” Abruzzi said, then cocked the hammer. “And I gotta piss. So either you help out, or I shoot you and piss on your corpse. What's it gonna be?”

T-Bag grinned at him, wide and lewd and wrong. Then the smaller man reached over, undid Abruzzi's trousers, reached in and _grabbed his dick_. Their eyes locked together, the two men stared each other down as T-Bag held the mob boss' dick in his hand and smirked.

“Well? Go ahead, mister mafia. I'm holdin' it steady for ya.”

Abruzzi clenched his teeth so hard his jaw popped. He kept staring at the smaller man, desperately trying to keep any trace of embarrassment out of his eyes, and felt hot skin envelop his cock. It was the first time anyone had touched him like that since he landed in prison, and heat sparked at the base of his spine.

When he was done, Abruzzi was about to order T-Bag to get him presentable again, but the other man beat him to it. Without being asked, T-Bag shook, tucked him back in and did his trousers back up. All with quick fingers and no hesitation. Abruzzi was mortified, and he thanked God it was dark, hopefully too dark for T-Bag to see just how mortified.

A rapist murderer was holding his dick while he took a leak, and Abruzzi had been celibate so long he nearly got hard over it.

“There, now. All better, eh, John boi?” T-Bag said, and he was grinning so widely as he did so. “Mind if I take care o' myself now?”

“The gun is staying,” Abruzzi said hoarsely.

“Oh, sure, sure,” T-Bag acquiesced. “But, uh, I gotta use both my hands, John.”

And Abruzzi could only stand there, gun in his left hand pointing unwaveringly at T-Bag's chest, and watch as T-Bag whipped his own dick out and took a leak. Abruzzi's right hand was so close to the other man, linked by that damnable cuff, and occasionally the back of his hand would brush against the other man's heated skin.

Abruzzi was disgusted by how little it bothered him.

_Crash!_

The noise brought Abruzzi's focus back to the situation at hand. T-Bag quickly wrapped it up and they both turned towards the tower. Which had, apparently, collapsed. Abruzzi swore loudly and tugged on the handcuff, forcing T-Bag into a run towards the destroyed structure. His pilot had been in there, searching for something to cut the cuffs with!

By the time they got over there, it was obvious the pilot was dead. John could only see one of his legs sticking out from a bit of ceiling, but the angle at which it was bent meant that it was broken, and if the man had been alive he would have been screaming in pain. Still, best to make sure.

“Lift that part off him, check if he's still alive,” he said, gesturing for T-Bag to get to work.

The man's skull turned out to be pretty much squashed beneath that part of ceiling, and Abruzzi swore again. How the hell were they getting out without a pilot?

“I can help,” T-Bag said quickly, clearly eager to delay the moment when John shot him. “I'm a survivor, John, I can help until we get outta these cuffs.”

“_We_ are not doing anything,” Abruzzi snapped, pressing the barrel of the gun against T-Bag's forehead. He was angry and he wanted to take it out on someone. “And you don't call me that, you filthy rapist.”

T-Bag held up his hands defensively. “Just tryin' to be polite, like,” he muttered. “But I swear, I can help. I ain't gonna make any trouble.”

“You're the reason there's trouble in the first place!” Abruzzi roared, but he didn't shoot. “If I didn't need these cuffs off, I wouldn't have sent my pilot into that crappy tower!”

T-Bag's tongue twisted between his teeth. “I still got a lotta useful skills, mafia man. I can pick locks, build a fire, kill someone, whatever you need. Even with only one hand.”

“Can you fly that plane?” Abruzzi demanded. “That's the only thing I need right now, Bagwell.”

T-Bag looked at the plane. “The engine started smokin', A-bruzzi. Even if I could fly it, that plane ain't goin' nowhere.”

Abruzzi cast a quick glance over at the plane, and sure enough, it was smoking. Shit. “We need to get anything useful out of that plane. Maybe the pilot had a phone.”

Together, they managed to climb back into the plane and search it. They came up with a first aid kit, a flash light, a few light blankets, and a bottle of booze (whisky, the good stuff, apparently specially stocked for Abruzzi's big night and he sent silent thanks to his people for getting this done). No phone, no tool kit, no portable radio. Nothing more than what would get them through a mildly uncomfortable flight.

“We need to find shelter,” T-Bag said once they were back outside, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods. “If my sense o' direction don't deceive me, we're in Canada. This here's grizzly country, ain't it?”

“We're just barely across the border, there's no grizzly here,” Abruzzi scoffed.

“Maybe not, but there's all sortsa other things, and it's past midnight. I say we go an' find somewhere to hunker down for the night,” T-Bag insisted.

“I'm not sleeping until you're dead and these cuffs are off,” Abruzzi stated flatly.

“Sure, go 'head, but us lesser mortals need our beauty sleep,” T-Bag said with a smirk. “And I don't see you hikin' through these here woods all night, either. Sleep or no, you gotta rest.”

“I need a phone or a car,” Abruzzi said, looking around by the beam of the flash light. “If we're moving away from the plane, then we're going where I can get either one.”

“That road over yonder,” T-Bag said, pointing to the only road connected to the airfield, about a hundred yards away. “I'm bettin' that'll get us somewhere less, uh, remote.”

“You're carrying the stuff,” Abruzzi said, then gestured for T-Bag to pick it up.

The murderer wrapped everything save the flash light in one of the blankets, then carried it like a sack over his right shoulder. Abruzzi kept the gun pointing at T-Bag in his left, and the flash light in his right, and they made their way over to the road in a bizarre three-legged race. They were moving far more slowly than they had as they ran from the guards outside Fox River, but still John kept a brisk pace. He needed to find help and soon.

T-Bag was going to die for this.

“Ya know, _paisan_, I keep wonderin', why didn'tcha just get us all a big enough plane? Ya knew Scofield was gonna be bitchy about leavin' anyone behind.”

“He wouldn't have cared if I left you,” Abruzzi said.

“True,” T-Bag acknowledged easily. “But Sucre, Eightball, the old man if he'd made it outta there? Would-a thought you'd seen that comin', mafia man.”

“And I would have thought even you wouldn't be dumb enough to handcuff yourself to _me_, Bagwell. You didn't think I'd let you live, did you?”

“Actually, I knew you was the only one with enough balls to kill me, so I figured I shouldn't give ya the opportunity. Neat, eh, John boi?”

“I could shoot through your wrist right now,” Abruzzi snarled.

“Maybe,” T-Bag said with a shrug. “And maybe ya only damage me and end up havin' to drag me around. Plus I don't think you're eager to walk around with no ammo. Only a few bullets left, ain't that right?”

“Fine,” Abruzzi said with a growl. “I'll keep this gun trained on you until we find bolt cutters strong enough or a lockpick good enough to get these open. Then I'll shoot you after.”

“Sure,” T-Bag said, but he was smirking again. “Hey, what's this, now? I reckon this lil' place will suit us just fine.”

A tiny, ramshackle cabin came into view between the trees on the side of the road. Probably a service building for the airfield. Abruzzi poked the gun into T-Bag's waist. “Time to prove you're not a waste of breath, Bagwell.”

T-Bag tried the handle, but the door didn't budge. He reached for the flash light and Abruzzi held it tighter.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I was gonna pick the lock,” T-Bag said, exasperated. “And for that, I need that lil' metal ring attachin' the wrist strap to the flash light.”

Abruzzi held the light still while the smaller man got the ring loose and then began carefully unwinding it until it was a short length of metal wire.

“How come you can pick that lock but not the one on the cuffs?” Abruzzi demanded.

“Completely different locks,” T-Bag said, fingering the little wire in his hand while he shrugged. “And I ain't gonna go an' remove my own insurance policy, now, am I?”

“You're throwing that thing out the window once you're in,” Abruzzi demanded, nodding at the little bit of metal in the other man's hand. T-Bag could probably puncture his jugular with that thing.

“Sure thang, boss,” T-Bag said, then bent down to look more closely at the door. “I need one more item. You got any pins or anythin'?”

“No.” There was nothing. He was really, truly, alone in this. No henchmen, no bank accounts, no tools, and only four bullets left in his gun. If T-Bag decided to turn on him, he was screwed.

“How's about that necklace you're wearin'?” T-Bag asked. “I can use the end of Jesus' cross, like.”

“My crucifix?”

John normally wouldn't even consider letting anyone use his crucifix for something so unworthy. But with the way his day had gone, it didn't exactly feel like God was in his corner anymore. With a sigh, he said, “Fine. But you don't break it if you don't have to.”

T-Bag carefully lifted the chain over his head, then dropped to his knees with the improvised tools. The flash light gave him more than enough light to see, and he went to work immediately. John watched, tense and sceptical, until the was a little “click” from the lock and the door sprang open.

“What'd I tell ya?” T-Bag crowed. “I'm useful, boss.”

They entered the shack and pulled the door shut behind them, then T-Bag dutifully threw the little wire out of a window. Abruzzi stood still and pretended not to be unnerved by the closeness as the smaller man hung the crucifix around his neck again. Abruzzi found a spot where he could see the door and lean against the wall at the same time, and sat down. He was going to rest, but no way in hell was he sleeping.

Not next to a rapist pedophile murderer.


	2. The Second Day

John woke up with a start and a hell of a crick in his neck. He stared wildly around him until his brain caught up and reminded him why he was there, sitting against the wall in a ramshackle cabin in Canada, and not in his bunk in Fox River. He looked down and saw T-Bag sleeping on the floor next to him. The murderer was curled up, the blanket beneath his head for a pillow, head pressed against John's hip and their cuffed hands squashed between John's thigh and T-Bag's chest.

Bagwell was cuddling him in his sleep. Christ. Abruzzi sneered and went to aim the gun at his companion, only to find he had dropped the gun in his sleep and it was lying underneath his left knee. Picking it up again, he yanked his right hand up and shook Bagwell.

“Get up!”

T-Bag came awake more slowly, looking even more confused than Abruzzi had felt. Then he seemed to register where he was and what was going on, and he sat up quickly. “What? Wha's happenin'?”

“We're leaving,” Abruzzi said gruffly. God, how badly he wanted coffee. “Gonna walk to the nearest town or wherever I can get to a phone.”

“Sure,” T-Bag said, then raised a hand to rub at his eyes like a sleepy child. “Uh, gotta take a leak, J- boss. Let's go outside.”

Abruzzi grumbled, but followed. He needed to piss, too, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was just easier to have the other man help him than to try and juggle the gun again. T-Bag was brisk and efficient like the day before, but the way he looked at Abruzzi and _held his fucking gaze_ while doing it...

There was something seriously wrong with that man.

“Keep looking and I'll give you a black eye, Bagwell,” Abruzzi snapped once his own dick was safely back in its cotton confines. T-Bag was still going.

“Sorry, boss,” T-Bag said, a sly grin on his face. He did, however, look down at what he was doing. “Just bein' polite, like.”

They went through the little shack to search for anything potentially useful. In daylight it looked even worse than it had the night before; everything was run-down and dusty, and it seemed to have been emptied of anything helpful before being abandoned. Their only prize was a small box of matches with exactly four sad little sticks left.

“We're leaving,” Abruzzi said, then headed for the door. “And we're walking until we find some place with a phone.”

They got out and, leaving the little shack with door closed but not locked, they set off further down the little road they'd come down the day before. T-Bag was once again carrying their meagre resources in the blanket, and Abruzzi kept the gun firmly in his left hand. The forest was alive with birdsong and the buzzing of insects around them. The sun kept peeking through a light cloud cover, and if Abruzzi had been walking with anyone else, he might have tried to enjoy the morning.

As it was, he was tired, hungry and pissed off. If T-Bag so much as looked at him wrong, Abruzzi would gut him.

They'd been walking in silence for what must have been an hour at least when a sudden sound made them both stop. The sound of branches breaking, creaking, indicated an animal approaching. T-Bag didn't say anything, but silently moved in front of Abruzzi, his left hand out to stop the other man.

Abruzzi stared. T-Bag, put himself between his enemy and an unknown danger? That made no sense.

“Get the gun ready,” T-Bag muttered softly, slowly putting the blanket down. “Could be somethin' with teeth.”

A branch bent aside and a small deer slowly made its way out of the foliage.

Abruzzi raised the gun.

T-Bag put a hand on his arm. “Don't shoot that, J – boss, it ain't dangerous.”

“But it's edible,” Abruzzi said, aiming. The deer was only about twenty feet away.

“Only if ya know how to skin an' carve it,” T-Bag said with a snort. “Ya into huntin', John? 'Cause I did some shootin' in my youth, and lemme tell ya, we ain't got the skills or the knives to get that ready for eatin'.”

At this point, the deer heard them, or smelled them or whatever, and bolted. They could see its white butt disappearing through the undergrowth, and Abruzzi sighed and lowered the gun somewhat.

“What, you mean to tell me you white trash types don't just eat'em raw?”

T-Bag gave him a sly look. “I'll eat most anythin', boss, but I ain't ever skinned a deer without the right equipment, and somehow, I don't think gettin' all bloodied and even more hungry is gonna do either of us any favours. I suggest we look for alternatives.”

They kept walking, following the little dirt road for what felt like hours. Eventually, with the sun high in the sky, they could hear a small stream near the road, and they stopped to drink. There was a shrub displaying some sort of bluish black berries, but they didn't look like anything Abruzzi had ever eaten. Didn't people get poisoning from eating unknown berries? He didn't know, and he wasn't taking any chances.

“How's about we trade for a while, John?” T-Bag asked, wiping the water off his chin as he straightened up from the stream. “You carry the bag, an' I'll take the gun.”

Abruzzi just snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, but I feel in need of a short rest,” T-Bag sighed. “How's about we just sit down for a minute under that there oak?”

Abruzzi had to concede that hiking was tiring, even without an improvised bag over his shoulder. They sat down under the oak tree, leaning back against the trunk, and T-Bag closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Ain't half bad, though, is it, bein' out in the woods like this? The freedom, I mean.”

“Freedom, yes. Woods, no. I don't like nature,” Abruzzi grumbled.

“What, your daddy never took ya campin' when ya were little?” T-Bag asked with a grin. “S'mores an' singin' round the campfire?”

Abruzzi snorted again. “My father taught me to run a family, Bagwell. And not the way yours ran you.”

He could feel the other man bristling, but the smaller man said nothing. There were many things to say about Theodore Bagwell, but that he lacked self-preservation instincts was not one of them. Only an idiot would get into it with the man who held a gun to your head.

“So, what we gonna do for food tonight, then, boss? 'S been, what, 'bout a day since we ate?” T-Bag asked after a while, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“You find your own food, you were the one who didn't want me shooting that fucking deer,” Abruzzi said dismissively.

“'Cause I was just thinkin', maybe we should try an' find another cabin? Somewhere to sleep, at least,” T-Bag suggested.

“How do you suggest we find anything in this fucking forest, Theodore?” Abruzzi said mockingly.

“Follow the road, obviously, until we see one,” T-Bag said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the rough bark. “Only, keep our eyes open for smaller roads. There's bound to be a huntin' shack out here somewhere.”

Abruzzi didn't really have any other suggestions, so he didn't reply. But when they did continue on, after a much needed rest and some more water, they kept to the road and looked for smaller roads leading off from it.

They didn't talk much, or in John's case, at all. He grunted in response to T-Bag's occasional comments, but otherwise the mafia boss was silent. T-Bag remarked on signs of water in the terrain around them, in case they needed to drink again, but said very little else. Thankfully. Abruzzi might, as mentioned, have gutted him.

As afternoon wore on, Abruzzi got more and more frustrated. They hadn't seen any sign of people, neither house nor paved road, and the one small road they had found just led to an old clearing in the forest, but no building, no nothing. They had encountered a few animals but nothing they could have eaten, even if they did manage to trap it.

“I'm-a go out on a limb here an' suggest we ain't gettin' anywhere useful today,” T-Bag said, as the evening light began making it obvious they weren't going to sleep indoors that night. “How 'bout we look for a place to sleep?”

“Told you, I'm not sleeping,” Abruzzi snapped.

“Uh huh, an' that was me snorin' like a lumber mill last night, I guess,” T-Bag said with a grin. “Ya need sleep like the next man, John. An' I ain't keen on sleepin' in the open.”

“There are no houses, Bagwell,” Abruzzi sighed. “We're sleeping in the open whether you're keen or not.”

“I meant a more sheltered position, _paisan_. C'mon, lessgo.”

Abruzzi followed T-Bag's lead off the road and into the woods. After another half hour they found – well, T-Bag found – a huge rock with a spruce tree fallen pretty much on top of it. The branches, trunk and stone formed a pretty snug little nook, mostly sheltered from any rain and certainly more protected than just lying down in the moss.

“Lemme just put our things down, I'm-a find us somethin' to eat,” T-Bag promised.

Further searching revealed another little stream. Abruzzi was beginning to follow the smaller man's reasoning; depressions in the terrain often signified running water, and in sunny areas there would often be berries or other edible plants. It stung him to admit it, even just to himself, but T-Bag was useful. It seemed unlikely Abruzzi would have managed as well on his own.

It was fully dark when they returned to their things by the fallen spruce, but T-Bag was carrying a shirtful of what he insisted were edible mushrooms and berries. His light blue shirt, dangling from his wrist where the cuff prevented it coming off, was stained with dark red berry juice, and he was clearly freezing in just his white long-sleeved shirt in the chilly night air.

“I swear, John, these here are fine, ain't gonna get poisoned,” he insisted. “'S why I just picked these, I know they're safe.”

There had been several types of berry, and at least two other kinds of mushroom, that they had passed as they looked. T-Bag had explained, and John had to agree, that it would be best to just eat the things they were absolutely sure of.

“How's about you get a fire started?” T-Bag said. “An' I'll get these 'shrooms ready to roast.”

It took them both far too long to get a fire started. They couldn't move apart, and even trying their best to cooperate, everything was slow and clumsy. But finally, with a lot of dry leaves and spruce springs for kindling, they managed to set fire to a few old branches that were dry enough to snap off the trunk easily.

With his back to the big stone and T-Bag pressed against his side, Abruzzi felt himself relax a little. This was fine. This would be fine. They could make it through the night like this.

T-Bag held a stick over the small fire, slowly roasting the mushrooms two by two. The berries were still in his shirt, and he'd pulled one of the airplane blankets over himself. He was still shuddering from cold, and leaning into Abruzzi a tad too close.

Abruzzi didn't say anything. He didn't want T-Bag to pass out from cold before they'd eaten.

“And you're sure these are safe to eat?” he asked, looking at the golden mushrooms with much scepticism.

“Chanterelles, John,” T-Bag said, and his teeth only chattered a little. “Only kind ya can't ever go wrong with. Pity there wasn't more of 'em.”

They'd rinsed the mushrooms in the stream before carrying them back, and the smell they gave off as they slowly cooked did make John's mouth water. He waited impatiently for the smaller man to pronounce them ready to eat, then gingerly took one between his fingers and bit into it.

The slightly peppery taste made his mouth fill with saliva and he chewed greedily.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, this here's the best food I ever had,” T-Bag moaned through a mouthful. “I ain't never complainin' about my food again.”

Abruzzi silently agreed. Having survived off of prison food for years, and only seen sun when the guards allowed them, a man could quite easily forget himself in the bliss of eating freshly roasted chanterelle mushrooms under a starry sky. If he could only get his hand loose and kill T-Bag, this would be perfect.

Well... kill him after he served his purpose of keeping them both alive until they found a phone, of course. Abruzzi would not have known which mushrooms to eat, and he was man enough to admit it.

After devouring the mushrooms, they ate the berries – blackberries, T-Bag explained. They were a little sour, but juicy. They ate every scrap of food, and T-Bag put his shirt back on, then got back inside his blanket. Abruzzi brought out the bottle of whisky and broke the seal. A little sip, just to keep the cold at bay, and then he'd try and get some rest.

“I don't mean to presume, boss, but, uh... Just a lil' sip?” T-Bag asked, looking with desperate hope at the bottle in Abruzzi's hand.

Abruzzi thought about it. Didn't alcohol make people sleepy? Perfect. If Bagwell was sleeping, then he wasn't cutting anyone's throat.

“Sure,” he said, “knock yourself out.”

T-Bag looked suspicious, but didn't decline the offer. He took a deep swig and swallowed, then sighed in obvious happiness.

“Your good health, boss,” he said, and drank again.

The blankets they'd found last night were the thin, useless kind you got on planes with overnight routes. They didn't do much to keep you warm, but every layer helped. Abruzzi put the last branch they had found onto the fire, then wrapped himself as well as he could with his right arm attached to T-Bag's, and leaned back against the rock.

“Ya know, I learned a thang or two durin' my huntin' days back home,” T-Bag said, obviously trying for nonchalant.

“Yes, mushrooms and berries, real hunting stuff,” Abruzzi said. He just couldn't stop being rude to the other man. He didn't want to stop. The other man annoyed him.

“Yeah, well, I also happen to know that ain't nothin' more effective to keep warm than body heat,” T-Bag said with a sidelong glance at the other man. “An' seein' as how we're stuck out here in the cold...”

“Get over yourself, Bagwell,” Abruzzi scoffed. “What, you can't handle a little cold? You gonna get the sniffles? It's summertime.”

Well, close enough. Very late summer. Summer-ish.

“Suit yourself,” T-Bag said, mouth turning down at the corners. “I just know it ain't easy gettin' comfy enough to sleep when 's too cold. An' I ain't got a problem admittin' I'm only human.”

Abruzzi wondered how much meaning he should read into that last comment.

T-Bag sunk into an uneasy doze soon enough, but Abruzzi couldn't get comfortable. He was cold, still hungry, and still pissed off. Well, frustrated. With his useless pilot, his people who hadn't brought him a phone, with the murderer who'd cuffed himself to Abruzzi, and with himself for not just getting a big plane so the escapees could all have gotten on it.

He was also incredibly tired and desperately needed sleep, but he was far too cold to manage it.

After shifting around and grumbling to himself for far too long, Abruzzi gave up and reached out to shake T-Bag.

“Bagwell.”

T-Bag jerked awake, looking completely discombobulated. “What?”

“You mentioned... You said something about body heat,” Abruzzi said, as gruffly as he knew how.

T-Bag blinked and licked his lips. “Uh, yeah. Body heat. Sure. Here, you wanna be the big or little spoon?”

Abruzzi could feel his eyes go tight with rage. “Don't you even -”

“Jesus, calm down, wouldya?” T-Bag snapped, finally letting his impatience overcome his need to be polite to Abruzzi. “'S just a figure of speech. How ya think we're gonna share heat with our arms like this? We need to move around some.”

Abruzzi scowled, but said nothing.

“Fine, ya ain't turnin' your back on me, I get it,” T-Bag muttered. “I'm-a turn my back on you, then. Get that blanket behind your back and around your shoulders, like that. Then hold your arms out a little.”

They ended up with T-Bag sitting between Abruzzi's spread legs, his back leaned against Abruzzi's chest, and their two blankets tucked around them as best they could. T-Bag's left arm was tucked across his own waist so Abruzzi's hand could rest on his own knee comfortably. The weight of the smaller man leaning against him made Abruzzi's heart hammer in his chest.

“Now get to sleep,” T-Bag muttered, and let his head loll back against the taller man's shoulder.

Abruzzi might have to kill him after all, if only to stop him talking about this to anyone else, ever.


	3. The Third Day

When sun hit his eyelids the next morning, Abruzzi blinked awake. He was cold and stiff and had slept far too little, but he felt strangely well rested. It probably had to do with the food, whisky and, yes, the quality of sleep he did manage.

He looked down at T-Bag. The smaller man was all sharpness and angles, but he felt ridiculously mellow and pliant in sleep as his full weight rested back against Abruzzi. During the night, he had turned a little to better accommodate their linked wrists, and was now lying almost on his side, curled into the other man's heat.

Abruzzi's back was sore, and his legs, nose and sides were cold. But everywhere T-Bag was pressed against him, he was warm and comfortable, and incredibly, his body was even doing a half-hearted attempt at morning wood.

_That well rested, huh?_

Abruzzi suddenly understood perfectly the meaning of the phrase _torn between_; on the one hand, he really, really didn't want T-Bag to wake up and notice his semi. On the other hand, the blanket cocoon was too perfect to consider leaving. He thought long and hard about how unsexy their whole situation was, and gradually, his body acquiesced and gave up on trying to produce anything more. Abruzzi sighed. One challenge down, about a thousand more to go. Starting with how they were going to get out of this fucking forest without dying or killing each other.

“Mornin', boss,” T-Bag muttered, then shifted in Abruzzi's arms, and the mafioso didn't notice until that moment that he'd been holding T-Bag, arms tight around the smaller man. “Good sleep?”

Abruzzi moved his arms and cleared his throat. “Managed to keep the heat, mostly. Get up. We're leaving.”

“Sure. Gotta piss first,” T-Bag yawned. “Damn, 's cold.”

They untangled themselves and the blankets. T-Bag wrapped their belongings back up, Abruzzi got the gun out of his waistband at the small of his back, and they repeated the last two days' mortifying ritual of taking a piss together. This time, though, T-Bag didn't stare at him like a creep, and Abruzzi relaxed. The other man must have realised antagonising Abruzzi was only going to get him inconveniently killed and left in the woods.

The day wore on like the one before. They walked, and walked, and walked until Abruzzi was almost ready to turn himself in if only it meant a bed indoors and food. They drank from small streams whenever they found them. T-Bag found some more blackberries and they ate those. They had to rest and nap twice and wasted almost an hour going down what looked like a promising road but turned out to be nothing.

“I ain't keen on sayin' it, boss, but I think we might hafta sleep outside again,” T-Bag sighed sometime around five in the afternoon.

“We got a few more hours before it gets dark,” Abruzzi said stubbornly and kept walking.

Amazingly, his stubbornness paid off when, nearly two hours later and with darkness creeping in around them, they came to a split in the road where one fork had a sign telling them it was private property. For, as T-Bag uselessly pointed out, nobody would put up a sign if there wasn't something to warn people off, would they?

Encouraged by the thought of a house or farm, they increased their pace and set off down the road towards whatever property was so private it needed a sign. T-Bag was panting, clearly struggling to keep up as he also had to carry their things, but Abruzzi didn't slow down. He was not spending another night outside, and if he could help it, not linked to the asshole either.

There was full dark when they came to the property mentioned, which turned out to be a little cottage. The beam from their flash light ran over rough timber walls, one storey, a small shed and plenty of firewood stacked up on the porch. The windows were dark and there was no smoke coming from the chimney, and Abruzzi almost couldn't believe their luck. An empty cottage just sitting there?

“Lemme try an' pick the lock again,” T-Bag said hoarsely.

Ah. Fuck. Abruzzi had made him throw the last lockpick out the window. That was... surprisingly short-sighted for a man of his profession.

“Get the light for me,” T-Bag said, dropping quickly to his knees in front of the door. He pushed their things in the blanket wrap aside, and studied the keyhole. Abruzzi held the flash light and waited.

“Good news, 's a real old-fashioned door, so probably no alarm,” T-Bag said, getting to his feet. “Bad news, I'm-a need a few things we might not have.”

“Break a window,” Abruzzi said, feeling his teeth ache with the creeping night cold.

“Bad idea, we gonna get cold and the owner gonna freak out next time they come out,” T-Bag said. “Lemme just check that shed.”

They did check the shed, and found a few big, rusty nails lying around. T-Bag insisted he could get the job done with them, and to Abruzzi's surprise, he could. They slipped inside the cabin and Abruzzi slowly examined their new surroundings in the beam of the flash light. It was all one big room, except what seemed like a smaller section encased in newer, thinner walls. A fireplace, a kitchen with a small gas stove and tiny dining table, an old but comfy-looking couch and chair around a coffee table. There was a bed in one corner, tastefully sectioned off from the rest of the room by rugs and a moose hide strung over a sort of frame.

“Somebody got their cabin featured in _Home and Cottage_, 's my guess,” T-Bag grinned. “Perfect. Let's get a fire started.”

Abruzzi could feel his shoulders release some of their tension, and he took a deep breath. Perfect. No alarm, because there were probably no valuables, so nobody to notice they were visiting. Miles from other people, so no need to hide; they could light a fire, keep warm, maybe there was even food. And once he'd made sure there were no weapons T-Bag could use, that bed had his name on it.

They made up the fireplace, then carried in more firewood than they probably needed, but Abruzzi was cold. T-Bag lit all the candles he could find around the room so they had a little light. Then the taller man insisted they search the place for guns and things, and they – fortunately for T-Bag – found nothing. A few knives in the kitchen drawers, but Abruzzi could search T-Bag before they slept, and the smaller man would never get over there when handcuffed to a man as heavy as Abruzzi who wasn't cooperating.

Then, in the last cupboard at the end, they struck gold. Food. Lots of it. Canned everything; beef, sausage, peas, tomatoes, carrots, fruit, condensed milk and – strangely enough – chocolate pudding. Canned chocolate pudding? Abruzzi shook his head, but put the can on the counter anyway. There was no food he wouldn't eat at that moment.

“How's about a casserole?” T-Bag said, hunger lighting up his face. “We just put all the savoury stuff in a pot, like, an' throw in some spice. 'f they have any.”

“No peas,” Abruzzi said, suddenly remembering the last thing he'd eaten in Fox River. “All the other stuff, no peas.”

T-Bag chuckled, but didn't say anything. They found pots and pans, struggled with the gas stove, and then T-Bag remembered that the gas flask usually wasn't kept in the house. They went back outside, found the thing, turned it on, and headed back inside.

“I noticed a barrel o' rain water over by that there shed,” T-Bag said as they were slowly heating a big pot of everything canned except the milk, fruit and pudding. “'Fraid I'm gonna insist we wash up a lil', John, 'fore we get our stink all over everythin' in here.”

“We eat first,” Abruzzi said, but he didn't protest. If they were looking to pretend like they'd never been there, it might not be a great idea to ruin the poor cabin owner's sheets.

They'd found a little salt in one of the cupboards, but that was all the spice they had. Still, a stew of canned beef and Italian sausage (Abruzzi was privately ridiculously pleased by this) in a sauce of crushed tomatoes with carrots, cocktail onions and beets was not half bad, even with no spice.

Oh, who was he kidding, it was the best thing Abruzzi had ever tasted. He ate until he was slightly nauseated; T-Bag, seated next to him, was wolfing down big spoonfuls without even chewing it properly. They hadn't even bothered with plates; they were eating right out of the pot.

Finally, they both put their spoons down and gave up trying to cram down the last remains. T-Bag burped discreetly and sighed with obvious contentment. Abruzzi rubbed at his own stomach and regretted the last two bites, but to hell with it. Who knew when they'd find food again?

“Now, I'm-a wash up, then how's about dessert? Chocolate puddin' with fruit an' condensed milk?” T-Bag said, stretching a little.

“Might have to save that for tomorrow,” Abruzzi said, then cleared his throat. “But wash, yeah. You stink, Bagwell.”

“An' ya ain't exactly made o' roses yourself, boss,” T-Bag said, smirking. “Best do it quick, though. 's gonna be colder than a witch's tit out there.”

Abruzzi had never understood that expression, since he didn't imagine witches to run cold, but hot. They were the Devil's concubines, weren't they? What he did understand was how ridiculously conscious of himself he was as he stood over the barrel of rainwater next to T-Bag and stripped down as far as he could, efficiently washing whatever he could and somehow worrying about how tiny his dick would look at this temperature.

“Boy, my nuts are about to climb back into my body,” T-Bag gasped between the chatterings of his teeth. And Abruzzi almost laughed despite himself. Washing up was surprisingly easy despite having one hand fastened to someone else.

They went back inside, carrying their clothes which they had also dunked in the water, wearing only their underwear (because Abruzzi didn't like three day-old sweat smell, but he liked being vulnerable even less) and the shirts hanging from their wrists. Once inside, they grabbed a blanket each from the couch and sat down in front of the fireplace, putting more wood on the flames and desperately trying to get warm.

Only then did Abruzzi realise he had no idea where the gun was.

“I'm beat, we should go to bed,” T-Bag sighed. “Here's your gun, boss.” And he picked up the gun from where it had been left on the floor by the fireplace, and handed it over to the man who had been threatening to kill him for nearly three days.

Abruzzi took the gun and forced himself to not gape, but it was hard. “Uh, sure. Sleep. Yeah.”

The small walled-off part of the cabin was a sort of bathroom with a toilet of the sort that composts your waste, very modern. They did their business quickly and T-Bag didn't even comment. They washed their hands in a basin in there, then went to bed.

The bed was a queen size and just big enough for the two of them to lie side by side, and T-Bag moaned loudly the second he got between the sheets. “Oooh yeah, tha's what I'm all about,” he sighed, and the sound was indecent. Downright filthy. It sounded like he was about to come all over himself, the way he was moaning.

“Yeah, okay, keep it to yourself, fucking pervert,” Abruzzi grumbled.

“I ain't gonna lie, might be able to ooor-gasm just from these here sheets,” T-Bag said with a snort of laughter.

Abruzzi's cheeks flamed in the darkness of the little cabin. “Shut it, Bagwell!”

“G'night, boss,” T-Bag replied.

Less than three minutes later, he was snoring softly.

Abruzzi couldn't get to sleep. He tried not to toss and turn, since the cuffs would make that uncomfortable, but he just couldn't stop squirming. He couldn't stop thinking about the man cuffed to his wrist, constantly at his side now for nearly three days.

T-Bag had tried shielding him from danger when they heard animals in the forest. T-Bag had behaved like a normal person for two whole days now. T-Bag held his dick while he pissed and T-Bag made sex jokes when they were just about to share a bed. T-Bag offered to make him dessert and shared body heat to get them both through the night.

And John Abruzzi was hard right now, lying in the same bed and wearing only his underwear, and he was hard because T-Bag had talked about having an orgasm and moaned like he was fucking someone even as he spoke.

How was this even his life?


	4. The Fourth Day

When Abruzzi woke up the next day, he was more comfortable than he could ever remember being, and his semi from the day before had returned with a vengeance, advancing into a full wet dream hard-on. The bed was soft and warm and smelled of sleep, and the other man in it was curled into Abruzzi like he was trying to snuggle.

And John Abruzzi was so hard his dick ached.

How long had it been since he had had sex? Since he'd even jacked off? He couldn't even remember. At the moment, it was hard to even picture his last time with his wife. He'd never fucked a cellmate, and he didn't like getting himself off when his cellmate was there. And now he was rock hard, leaking precome like a teenager, lying next to the last man he'd ever have picked for the escape, in a snug bed in an even snugger little cottage.

“Fuck this,” Abruzzi muttered to himself, then firmly closed his eyes and willed it to go away.

It didn't go away.

And then, to make matters worse, T-Bag began waking up, and he yawned and stretched and pressed his face against Abruzzi's shoulder until the heat of another human being was seeping into the mafia boss' very pores. Nothing was going away now, not ever.

“Gnnnhmm,” T-Bag articulated into the skin of Abruzzi's arm.

“Get off me, Bagwell,” Abruzzi said, desperately trying to keep his voice stern rather than just letting it all out in a moan.

He was a grown man, goddammit, he would not start acting like a fucking teenager just because it had been a while!

“Mm,” T-Bag agreed, but he just nuzzled into the skin underneath his face and seemed about to go back to sleep.

“Alright, that's it, time to get up,” Abruzzi growled, and shoved T-Bag forcefully off him. “Bagwell! Up!”

T-Bag blinked his eyes slowly open and yawned again. His entire face scrunched up and he looked a lot younger when he did that. “Whut?”

“Should keep moving,” Abruzzi said through clenched teeth. He would just stare the other man into submission, he supposed, and wait until his dick calmed the fuck down again.

“Actually,” T-Bag drawled, “I was thinkin' maybe this cabin – well. Hell-oh.”

And he levelled a very obvious stare at Abruzzi's dick, which was now tenting the duvet.

“Not a word, Bagwell,” Abruzzi said, and even he could hear how tight his voice was. “Not a fucking word.”

“Absolutely,” T-Bag said, and suddenly he rolled over so he was on his hands and knees, backed down until his face was level with the other man's groin, and looked Abruzzi right in the eye. “Better ways to occupy my mouth.”

“What?” Abruzzi said dumbly.

T-Bag yanked the covers down and the cold air rushing over his skin only made Abruzzi's dick twitch.

“Not a word, boss,” T-Bag promised, then touched Abruzzi's dick. Just like that. Just reached up with his uncuffed hand and grasped it through his shorts.

Abruzzi's brain went dribbling out his cock with the next drop of precome.

T-Bag one-handed got the taller man's dick out of his shorts, then unceremoniously opened his mouth and sucked it down. All the way down, until his nose was in Abruzzi's short curlies and his throat was working to accommodate all of Abruzzi's frustration. And John Abruzzi's brain was completely fried.

“Fuck, Bagwell, what are you doing?” he demanded, hips jerking against the other man's mouth.

T-Bag just pointed to what he was doing, then pulled off a little and began jacking the base of Abruzzi's cock with his hand. Abruzzi groaned. Then T-Bag switched hands, and began using the cuffed hand to jerk Abruzzi so he could slide his right hand down to jerk himself.

Abruzzi saw it all unfold and he was powerless to stop it. He was going to come. He was going to shoot his load in T-Bag's mouth, and moan like a bitch in heat, and then T-Bag was going to fucking come all over Abruzzi's leg or something, and it would all be a disaster.

Where had he put that gun?

Why was he even thinking about stopping this?

Should he at least pretend to be thinking about his wife?

“Bagwell,” he moaned, and grit his teeth. “Swallow it.”

T-Bag answered with a moan of his own, and when Abruzzi came with a deep grunt, he swallowed and swallowed and kept jacking them both until the taller man had to yank his hand away.

“Fff... fuck!” T-Bag gasped, a quiet and strangled noise, as he pressed his forehead to Abruzzi's stomach and convulsed against him seconds later.

John lay panting underneath T-Bag and tried to put his brain back in its place, to convince his lungs to stop heaving, to force his dick to stop feeling the phantom heat of the other man's mouth. Disaster. That was what this was. He'd just come in T-Bag's mouth. The other man had just voluntarily sucked his dick. How was John supposed to just kill and cut the hand off a man who had sucked his dick just to be nice?

“Heh. 's if my dental hygiene weren't bad enough the past days,” T-Bag said hoarsely, then chuckled. “Now I got cockbreath, too.”

Abruzzi closed his eyes, mortified. How had he let it come to this? Why hadn't he just shot through the Alabamian's wrist and damn the consequences?

“A'ight, boss, lessgo. Need to get up an' take a leak, right?” T-Bag sighed after another moment.

Abruzzi jolted into awareness and levelled a glare at him.. “What? No!”

T-Bag frowned. “Uh, okay? But I do. So if ya please, _paisan_. Don't wanna wet the bed, now do we?”

They got up, Abruzzi silent and fuming and T-Bag seemingly oblivious to this fact. T-Bag made it to the little bathroom, then stopped and looked around, hesitant.

“Uh, boss. I gotta... ya know. Dinner last night.”

Abruzzi nearly swallowed his tongue and therefore said nothing.

“C'mon, now, boss, ya had the same shitter as everyone else in prison,” T-Bag said with clear exasperation.

“Didn't have a guy holding my hand while I used it, now, did I?” Abruzzi forced out.

T-Bag glared at him and snapped, “Yeah, well, didn't get a blowjob first thang from your cellie neither, I'm bettin', so man up.”

There was silence for a beat, and Abruzzi considered just shooting the other man and dragging a corpse around with him for the remainder of his days. It had to be easier. Surely. If he had only remembered to bring the gun, which he'd stashed under his side of the mattress, to the bathroom.

“Fine,” he managed.

Abruzzi had never been as embarrassed and uncomfortable in his life. He had to go, too. They both used the toilet, both waiting with their backs turned and their arms at an uncomfortable angle. They washed their hands, and it was a mess, trying to get four hands soaped and rinsed in a dainty little basin with blue flower motifs around the edge. Then they went through the little shelf on one wall, searching for anything to clean their teeth with.

A dented, encrusted tube of toothpaste let them at least use their fingers to rub their teeth mostly clean. They went outside to spit, trying to avoid making a mess.

“John,” T-Bag finally began, as they were building up the fire again. Their clothes still hadn't dried from the night before.

“Grrr.”

“John, I ain't messin' around. I ain't gonna do nothin', or start nothin', or make this difficult. We're just escapin', right?” T-Bag insisted as they were once again sitting in front of the fireplace, wrapped in separate blankets.

Abruzzi's hand was cold. It was the only part of him exposed to the early morning air inside the cabin. He didn't dare move it into his blanket for fear T-Bag's hand would follow. “Hmph.”

“What, like ya never had your dick sucked before? Didn't like it?” T-Bag snarked.

“Fuck you, Bagwell.”

“Oh, I'd let ya, if'n it got ya off my back. Christ, John, ain't I been useful so far? Ain't I been on my best behaviour? What's it gonna take for ya to stop thinkin' I'm-a slit your throat in your sleep?” the shorter man demanded, voice rising.

“You're a murderer and a sicko, T-Bag, so don't even start,” Abruzzi snapped. The words rang hollow even to himself. As if he hadn't killed his fair share.

“Yeah, and ya sure ain't got a drop o' blood on your own hands,” was the reply, along with an eye roll. “Give over, boss. Ya didn't like the blowjob, fine, I was only bein' nice on account of your, uh, condition. Ain't gonna happen again. Now can we please find some breakfast?”

Abruzzi didn't have any further arguments to throw in the other man's face, so he had to content himself with a, “Goddamn pervert”. They stoked the fire in awkward silence, then moved to the kitchen to find whatever was left after last night's dinner. There was a few more cans of various vegetables, but little in the way of breakfast foods.

“Fuck it, I want chocolate puddin',” T-Bag stated, then started opening the can. “Always get the munchies real bad after -”

“Shut up,” Abruzzi muttered.

They had chocolate pudding with condensed milk – sweetened, thankfully – and fruit salad for breakfast. It all tasted extremely canned, but Abruzzi was hungry and it only took them minutes to finish all the food. Finally, when they'd eaten and shuffled back to the fireplace, the two men faced each other.

T-Bag had been sneaking glances at Abruzzi all through breakfast, but the mafioso had determinedly not looked back, and so their eyes met properly for the first time since T-Bag had sucked his dick, and just like that, Abruzzi felt another twitch.

Motherfucker!

“See, our clothes ain't dry yet, an' I think we can make better headway if we ain't exhausted,” T-Bag began, and Abruzzi understood.

“So, what, we should just sit around here all day waiting for dry clothes?”

“We can get warm, rest up, eat whatever's left, then start again tomorrow at dawn,” T-Bag insisted. “Maybe there's even a map or somethin' around here.”

It made sense, and Abruzzi hated that it made sense. He didn't want to find any sort of reason in anything T-Bag said, although he knew the other man was not stupid. Many things, but never stupid.

“I'm gonna kill you if we spend a day stuck inside like this,” Abruzzi said, trying hard to dissuade both himself and the other man. “You drive me nuts.”

“I saw a paperback lyin' around that there coffee table,” T-Bag said quickly. “We could read.”

And so that was what they ended up doing for most of the day. First, they went back out to the rainwater barrel and washed up again, then brought in more firewood. They cleaned up after themselves in the kitchen, because the pot they'd used the night before was becoming a little pungent. They searched every single cupboard, drawer and surface and found both a map and a short crime novel. Then, when they'd done everything useful they could think of, they sat down on the couch, side by side, and stared straight ahead.

“This is such a waste of time,” Abruzzi said, insistent on being negative.

“Speak for yourself, I'm actually enjoyin' myself,” T-Bag said, then leaned back and sighed. “Ain't been this relaxed in years.”

Abruzzi silently agreed with him, but for fear of restarting the blowjob conversation, he kept that to himself. He picked up the book and turned to the first page. Might as well get something out of it.

***

Hours later, the paperback was read, T-Bag had napped for long enough that he was clearly antsy for something to do, and Abruzzi was contemplating just turning himself in again. The sun was dropping slowly towards the horizon, and the cabin was warm, silent and humming with tension.

“Wanna go for a walk?” T-Bag suggested, almost as soon as Abruzzi threw the book to the coffee table.

“What, you didn't get enough exercise the past three days?” Abruzzi sneered.

“Too much, actually,” T-Bag said with a shrug. “Just wanna make sure I don't get all sore and can't walk tomorrow.”

Again, the suggestion was infuriatingly sensible. Abruzzi wondered if T-Bag was always like this, deep down, and just hid his sensible nature behind prison airs. Or perhaps these were his airs, and he was actually every inch the mad dog he seemed like behind bars, he just knew when to pretend to be normal.

“Hrmph,” Abruzzi concluded, and got to his feet. “Get dressed, then.”

Their clothes were dry and warm, fresh off the chairs in front of the fireplace. They put them on, found a few old flannel shirts hanging behind the door as extra protection against the chill, and put those on as best they could with the cuffs. Then they headed outside.

They strolled around the cabin, took another look at the shed outside in case they had missed anything useful (they hadn't), then set off down the same road they'd come up the day before. The forest was alive with bird song and wind rustling through the foliage, and Abruzzi had to admit he could actually see the appeal of having a retreat like this to visit.

His family's villas in Europe just didn't have the same feeling of calm to them.

“Well, lookie here,” T-Bag suddenly said, yanking on the cuffs as he veered off the road. “Apples!”

It was, in fact, an apple tree. Abruzzi thought it must have been planted, because it stood quite close to the cabin and the apples looked too good to be wild ones.

“They ain't ripe yet,” T-Bag said, but he kept going for the tree anyway. “But we could roast 'em.”

“Roast unripe apples? Why?” Abruzzi said with scepticism.

“'S nice, sittin' by the fire roastin' apples,” T-Bag insisted. He reached up with his uncuffed hand for one of the apples. “Roast 'em, put some condensed milk on, it'll taste great.”

He couldn't reach the apples and grunted. “Give us a hand, John.”

Not entirely sure why he bothered, Abruzzi stepped close and reached, picking down an apple for the other man. He had to yank to get it loose.

“These aren't ripe enough even if you roast them,” he said, but handed the apple over to T-Bag anyway.

T-Bag bit into the fruit, chewed twice, then made a face and spat it back out. “Nah, you're right. Ah well.”

They kept walking, their cuffed arms swinging in time and their other hands in their pockets. Abruzzi drew a deep breath and tasted the early autumn crispness that was coming their way. T-Bag hummed something under his breath. It was almost peaceful enough to forget the fact that they were wanted fugitives running from the law.

“So whatcha gonna do when ya find a phone?” T-Bag asked, sounding causal.

Abruzzi didn't let his gaze shift anywhere but straight ahead. “Kill you, probably, then sit and wait for my transportation.”

T-Bag gave a snort. “Mm. Sure, John.”

“Go to Italy, I guess,” Abruzzi continued as if he hadn't heard the other man. “Get the business back in order. Have my family flown out to join me.”

“How're ya gonna work that, John? Ya ain't got a passport.”

“My people can get me a passport,” Abruzzi assured him. Assured himself, really.

“Normally, sure. Don't doubt it. But, uh, ya ain't exactly low profile no more, John. Every cop both sides o' this border gonna know to look for ya,” T-Bag said. His voice was still so casual, but his shoulders were tensing. Abruzzi could see it from the corner of his eye.

“That's why I'm not leaving by plane,” Abruzzi said. “I'll have a ship waiting for me. What do you care, anyway, you're not coming with me.”

“Just makin' conversation,” T-Bag said lightly.

After about a half hour, they decided they wouldn't be too sore to walk the next day, and the daylight was gone, too. They turned and walked back to the cabin, hung the borrowed flannels back up and put another log on the glowing embers. It quickly burst into flame.

“Alright, last supper,” T-Bag joked, nodding towards the little kitchen. “Same 's yesterday?”

They heated everything savoury they found in the cupboard, including peas. There was one last can of milk and one of fruit salad left, and T-Bag insisted they save it for breakfast the next day. They would have eaten ever last scrap of food by the time they left, and Abruzzi felt a stab of guilt, but only a very little one. It was a life-or-death thing, the cabin owners would understand.

As they ate, T-Bag wondered aloud what had become of the others after they separated, and Abruzzi once more felt a stab of guilt. He had promised the Fish he'd get them out, and the other man had relied on him. He told himself that Fish hadn't delivered Fibbonacci either, so they were square, but the knowledge that they might be back in jail and Sink about to be tied to that chair just didn't sit right with him.

“Why didn't you cuff yourself to Scofield?” Abruzzi asked, pondering over a spoonful of steaming tomato. “This was his gig.”

“Told ya already, John,” T-Bag said around a mouthful. He swallowed and took a swig of water. “You's the only man there would-a had the guts to kill me. Wanted to make sure I stayed alive.”

“You don't think Sink would have killed you to get his brother out?” Abruzzi asked, incredulous. The man was sentenced to execution for a reason.

“Sure, in a crisis,” T-Bag said dismissively. “But only as a last resort. You, on the other hand, now, you would-a killed me as soon as look at me.”

He emphasized each word in that lilting drawl of his. Abruzzi stared at him, their eyes met, and they were silent for a few long, slow moments. Abruzzi's dick twitched again. _Sonofabitch!_

“And yet, here we are,” Abruzzi said quietly.

He felt tense in ways that had nothing to do with the danger the other man posed and everything to to with his own reactions. He wanted to force T-Bag to his knees and make him suck his dick again. He wanted to leave him behind in this fucking cabin and just go on escaping without him. But it had been a day or two now since he had actively wanted to kill the other man.

“I know ya could-a shot me long before now,” T-Bag said, and his voice was remarkably calm for a man discussing his own imminent death. “An' I know ya got religion in hospital. I don't pretend to know whatcha gonna do tomorrow, John, but I flatter myself we can work somethin' out.”

“I don't trade -” Abruzzi began angrily, thinking of T-Bag's prison bitches and their _trades_.

T-Bag cut him off. “Ain't talkin' about that, John. I already said I'd let ya, but that ain't it. I'm talkin' about me bein' useful to ya. All I'm askin' is that ya don't kill me. I can help, I can do whatever ya need me to do, 'till we get them cuffs off. Then all ya gotta do is look away as I leave. Thassit. All I'm askin'.”

Abruzzi glowered into his food and kept eating. It sounded so reasonable. So fucking rational. Just get through this, rely on each other to survive, then go their separate ways and never worry about the other man's existence again. Why couldn't he just let that itch settle?

“Don't trust you,” Abruzzi mumbled.

T-Bag stared back for a moment, then got to his feet, put one foot up on the chair, fiddled with something at his ankle for a moment then, with a flourish, held something out to Abruzzi.

It was the gun.

Abruzzi roared with anger and grabbed it in his left hand, then grabbed T-Bag by the throat in his right and pushed until the smaller man was pressed uncomfortably up against the kitchen cabinets.

“You took this?”

“Ya left it,” T-Bag said, calm though his voice was breathy with the pressure of Abruzzi's hand against his windpipe. “By the fire. I picked it up before we went out, didn't want it lyin' about. Now I'm givin' it back to ya, John. Think about it.”

Abruzzi's mind was reeling. At any moment, on any whim, T-Bag could have put a bullet in his brain. T-Bag could have killed him and he would never have seen it coming. Instead, the other man had calmly handed the gun back to him, not even bothering to aim it at Abruzzi first.

He let up a little and T-Bag drew a deep breath.

“Ya might not trust _me_, John, but I choose to trust ya anyway. I'll prove it. Go on. I'll do anythin' ya want until we're outta trouble. Tell me what ya need me to do to prove it.”

Abruzzi stepped further back and put the gun into his waistband. “Fine. I'm tired. Let's get some sleep.”

T-Bag exhaled slowly, nodding. They followed the same ritual as the night before, only this time Abruzzi stashed the gun under his side of the mattress before they began undressing and using the bathroom. He had decided to trust T-Bag exactly as far as the smaller man could lift the mattress with Abruzzi sleeping on it.

“Sure ya don't want a lil' somethin' to take the edge off before bed?” T-Bag asked, grinning at Abruzzi as they were taking their trousers off.

Their shirts swung from their wrists as Abruzzi yanked angrily at his belt. “I don't care what you usually do with cellmates, Bagwell, this isn't Fox River!”

“Don't I know it,” T-Bag muttered, obediently getting in bed first so Abruzzi didn't have to climb over him. “In prison I would-a had a good fuck outta ya by now.”

Abruzzi grit his teeth into sleep.


	5. The Fifth Day

The next morning dawned cold and clear. Getting out of that soft, warm bed was one of the hardest things Abruzzi had ever done, and he grumbled to himself through the entire morning. T-Bag seemed infuriatingly chipper throughout, of course. Over their canned fruit they discussed the map they'd found the day before.

“See, someone's circled this spot, I think tha's us,” T-Bag said, pointing. “An' if that over there's the air strip...”

“Why's that the air strip?” Abruzzi asked. He wasn't exactly good at this whole outdoorsy camping thing, and that included reading maps.

“'Cause it looks about the same shape, an' the right distance from here,” T-Bag explained. “See, this here's ten miles, that distance. An' we been walkin' for two days to get here. I'd say we done about twenty miles a day, or thereabouts. So if this is us, an' that's the air strip, then this here should only be a day's walk away.”

“And what's that there?” Abruzzi asked obligingly.

“Another buildin', probably somethin' official since it has first aid,” T-Bag explained, pointing to the little red cross legend. “Maybe a ranger station, somethin' like that. There oughta be a phone or radio.”

“And rangers,” Abruzzi said drily. “Who will call the cops on us.”

“We're just gonna hafta wait until they leave to take a piss, ain't we?” T-Bag said, clearly unconcerned. “I'm good at sneakin' 'round things, John, don't worry.”

Abruzzi huffed, but they got their things together and left, pulling the door shut behind them. They took the flannel shirts and Abruzzi once more felt a little guilt, but anyone who could afford to keep a cabin like that could probably afford to buy new shirts, too. They set off down the little road, then joined the larger road and kept walking towards what was, hopefully, a way to contact civilisation.

The map rustled in T-Bag's pocket. Abruzzi had the gun stuffed into the waistband of his trousers again, at the small of his back, and they each carried a blanket. T-Bag had helped him tie it around him like a sash so that it didn't hinder movement, and then he'd helped the other man do the same. T-Bag had the flashlight and their other things tied into his blanket sash.

“Sure am glad the boys ain't around to see me now,” T-Bag muttered, clearly referring to his white supremacy crew back in Fox River.

“What, ashamed of tagging along after me?” Abruzzi said with a slight smile.

“Lookin' like a debutante with this stupid blanket,” T-Bag countered, smirking right back. “I don't mind taggin' along, John, not after you.”

Abruzzi didn't know how to respond to that.

“Only man in the escape I could respect a lil',” T-Bag continued on. “Scofield, Burrows, Sucre, them boys? Weak. Didn't understand what needed to be done. 's why you's the only real threat among 'em, boss. 's why I chained myself to ya.”

Abruzzi had absolutely nothing to say to that, either.

“Okay, yeah, maybe the old-timer,” T-Bag relented. “Westmoreland had backbone.”

“May he rest in peace,” Abruzzi said dutifully, although he didn't really care one way or the other. Catholic guilt was a strong habit to break.

They kept walking, occasionally talking about inconsequential things, but mostly in a silence which didn't feel strained, much to Abruzzi's surprise. There was just something about the easy acceptance T-Bag exuded, how he didn't seem to judge or care what Abruzzi had or hadn't done with his life so far. Probably because whatever it was, T-Bag had done worse, but still. It was nice, for once, to not be looked down on.

Also, there was just something soothing about knowing T-Bag was pretty much bitchified by their circumstances. Abruzzi was beginning to accept the fact that the other man was not going to try and kill him, and that he would do whatever he was told for a chance to join in when Abruzzi finally got help and got out of there. The Alabamian would do anything and everything Abruzzi told him to.

_Like suck my dick, apparently. Or bend over for me._

Again, T-Bag had probably done way worse in his life than allow himself to be fucked for a ride out of this god-forsaken forest, but Abruzzi had never had _that_ much power over someone before. Sure, people usually did whatever he told them, and he'd had people at gunpoint, begging and crying for their lives. But for someone to openly admit they'd do whatever he wanted, even _that_, just to be allowed to leave peacefully at the end of the road, before he'd even put the gun to their head?

It turned out a power trip like that made his dick twitch even harder than the sight of T-Bag licking his lips while glancing at the taller man's groin. And, once more, Abruzzi groaned internally and thought, what even was his life?

They stopped to rest occasionally, but they mostly kept moving, determined to get to the building marked on the map before they lost the daylight. At one point, T-Bag declared he needed to take a leak, and Abruzzi grit his teeth to himself as he admitted he couldn't hold it any longer, either. This time, though, there was no gun pressed to T-Bag's head, and they just did their business side by side, brushing against each other. Thankfully for Abruzzi, the embarrassment kept him from popping wood right then and there.

As the sun began dipping towards the horizon once more, they found yet another little dirt road leading off the bigger road they were following. According to T-Bag's reading of the map, that would be the ranger station or whatever it was, so they left the main road and started going more slowly so as not to be discovered.

“Guess ya should get that gun out now, John,” T-Bag suggested softly, reaching into the blanket wrap for their flash light. “Just in case, like.”

Abruzzi took the gun out, and T-Bag held the flash light like a baton, and they advanced down the little road carefully. A few hundred yards down, the road curved and they crept in among the trees to stay out of sight. As they crept up to the treeline on the other side of the bend in the road, a small clearing came into view, and in the middle of it, a ranger station, neat little wooden sign and everything.

It was even smaller than the cabin they had spent the last two nights in. There couldn't possibly be room for more than a bed and a gas cooker in there, possibly a table. Could there even be a radio holed up in there?

“No car,” T-Bag muttered, his dark eyes scanning the area. “Didn't see no tracks on the way in, either. Maybe it's empty.”

“Only one way to find out,” Abruzzi replied, squaring his shoulders. “We should go around that side, no window.”

They crept further on just inside the line of trees, then veered out towards the little building once they were out of sight of its window. Sneaking along pressed up against the wall, they made their way to the window again, T-Bag leading and Abruzzi trying not to make noise as he followed.

T-Bag crouched down and leaned up slightly so he could peek inside the window without being seen. After a moment he stood up and pressed his nose to the glass, shading the light with hands cupped around his eyes.

“Ain't no-one there.”

They made their way to the door. Abruzzi was still feeling uneasy about the whole thing, but T-Bag seemed sure of what to do. He'd pocketed his lock-picking tools the day before, and the moment he reached the door he dropped to his knees again and began working on the lock.

The sight of him on his knees reminded Abruzzi sharply of the heat of that sly mouth on his own dick, and he grit his teeth against the spark of arousal he felt. The shorter man always looked as if he belonged there; kneeling down to greater men, offering services Abruzzi really shouldn't want.

“No luck, boss, this lock's too good,” T-Bag sighed, and Abruzzi was jolted out of his inappropriate reverie. “Gonna hafta shoot it out.”

“We don't even know if that'll work,” Abruzzi sighed. “I've never shot a lock open before.”

“Me either, but I saw a radio in there, we need to get in,” T-Bag said, getting laboriously back to his feet. Abruzzi reached out, unthinking, and helped him up. “Gotta try.”

Abruzzi, on some impulse he didn't understand himself, reached out and tried the handle. It moved, a soft click followed, and the door swung open.

“Well, I'll be damned,” T-Bag said, grinning up at the taller man. “Ya ain't as dumb as ya look, huh, John?”

Abruzzi just rolled his eyes and entered the little cabin. Clearly, the rangers didn't keep anything valuable in here anyway, and who would be out wandering this deep in the forest anyway? Possibly the rangers even intended for people in need of shelter to stop here. Or maybe they were just forgetful fuckers, what did he know?

“Gonna search for food,” T-Bag offered, far more upbeat than he usually sounded. “'S a bed, too.”

Abruzzi took in the room, and placidly followed T-Bag around as the Alabamian went through what little storage space there was, searching for anything edible. They weren't lucky enough for canned goods, but they did find a small box of protein bars on the shelf above the bed. The furniture consisted of a narrow bed – a single – a gas cooker, as Abruzzi had suspected, and a small table with a single chair. There was a shelf above the bed and one tall, narrow cupboard running floor to ceiling. One corner held a little wood stove to heat the room, and there was a radio on the little table.

“Where am I sleepin', boss?” T-Bag asked, still sounding abnormally perky.

“Don't care,” Abruzzi muttered, preoccupied with the radio. “You know how to use one of these?”

“Uh. I'm sure I can figure somethin' out,” T-Bag replied, and he didn't sound perky anymore. There was an edge to his voice, like there'd been a few days earlier.

“Nah, gonna try myself if you don't know,” Abruzzi said. He sat down in the chair and pulled the radio close. It was heavy and solid, and he wondered if it would work. Then he noticed the two batteries lying in a little wooden tray next to the radio. After some fiddling, he managed to open a panel and fit the batteries. The radio sparked to life in a burst of static.

“Alright,” he sighed, relieved. “It works.”

He pressed buttons and flicked a switch, but it didn't exactly make sense to him. He was a modern guy when it came to technology; he liked his cars with automatic transmission and his guns sleek with suppressors. John Abruzzi wouldn't know how to operate a radio if it landed in his lap, as it would indeed have done in that little ranger station if T-Bag hadn't reached out quickly to steady it.

“Careful, 's our only ticket outta here,” he said, voice strained to politeness. It sounded all wrong on him.

“I can't work this fucking thing,” Abruzzi admitted in frustration.

“Saw a stack o' papers in that cupboard,” T-Bag offered. “Maybe there's a manual.”

Abruzzi stared at him. “You really think they'd leave the how-to handbook for their fancy radio just lying around?”

“They left the door open,” T-Bag pointed out. “For my money, I think this place's meant as a shelter for lost hikers, we ain't even breakin' the rules here.”

“Hmm,” Abruzzi commented wisely.

“C'mon, lemme check,” T-Bag insisted, and they turned to the cupboard so he could search it. After methodically leafing through the stack for a few moment, T-Bag triumphantly pulled out a small booklet.

“Found it.”

Abruzzi goggled. “Good thing I don't believe in karma, Bagwell. We're not supposed to be this lucky.”

“Speak for yourself, boss, I always thought I deserved better,” T-Bag grinned, and handed the booklet over. “Here ya go.”

Abruzzi sat back down at the table, then changed his mind. “You operate the radio,” he said, “and I'll read.”

He wasn't that good with his right hand hampered, anyway.

Between them, they managed to get through the instructions and get the radio ready for transmitting. However, they ran into another problem once they got to the part about actually sending and receiving signals.

“I don't have anyone to call,” Abruzzi said, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. “No, I mean, I got people to call, but my people don't have radios.”

“Less' try it anyway,” T-Bag suggested. “Maybe we can find out where the nearest town is.”

They tried. T-Bag spoke into the microphone, waited for a minute, then repeated his message.

“Is anybody there? This is, uh, Andrew Higgs. We got lost hikin' and found this radio. Hello?”

Abruzzi had no idea how he could lie so smoothly and so quickly. On the fourth attempt, T-Bag had barely released the button before the radio gave a beep and a voice came on over the tinny speaker.

_“This is Gregson, Killarney ranger. I am receiving, over.”_

Abruzzi tensed all over. T-Bag looked relieved. “Yeah, hi, ranger Gregson. Like I said, we got lost hikin'. Any chance you can tell us where we are?”

_“Are you in an old ranger station, over?”_

“Yeah, a few days' walk from a small air strip,” T-Bag confirmed.

_“That sounds like it, you're on their frequency, at least. How many are there of you? Are you injured, over?”_

“Nah, we're fine, two adults, no damages, just lost,” T-Bag said, and he sounded a little impatient.

_“You're just under three days' walk out from Walden, over.”_

“Much obliged,” T-Bag said. “Followin' the same road we took here, I'm guessin'?”

_“That's correct. Do you need me to send a vehicle, over?”_

“Oh, no, don't trouble yourself, we're fine, just lost our map,” T-Bag reassured the voice on their radio, his voice that smooth, reasonable lilt that could convince people he was both safe to be around and charming to boot. “Thanks so much, ranger Gregson.”

_“Ten-four, over and out.”_

T-Bag flicked the switch on the radio off and scoffed. “Ten-four, who does that boy think he is?”

“Park ranger,” Abruzzi said. “Care to tell me why you turned down a car?”

“We don't wanna get in a car with rangers, John,” T-Bag said with a shake of his head. “They'd recognise us, drive us straight back down to Uncle Sam.”

“They're park rangers, not military police,” Abruzzi grumbled. He had really gotten his hopes up at the mention of a vehicle. He was sick of walking, and three days of walking could be accomplished in a matter of hours if they had a car.

“I ain't willin' to risk it,” T-Bag murmured, and he looked genuinely worried.

“Fine. Three more days. We can go three days without food, right?” Abruzzi sighed.

“Sure we can,” T-Bag agreed. “I thought I saw another map in that stack o' papers, maybe 's better than ours.”

They checked, and the map was indeed better than the one they'd taken from the little cabin. It covered a larger area, and did indeed show they weren't far from Walden. According to the little distance legend in the corner, they were less than forty miles from the place.

“We can cover that in less than two days,” T-Bag said, coiled and tense as he read over Abruzzi's shoulder. “See that? 'S less than we covered 'tween the air strip an' here, much less. Forty miles, that's a day an' a half o' quick walkin'.”

“Then why did the ranger say three days?” Abruzzi asked, suspicious of – absurdly – not his companion, but the ranger who had taken their radio call.

“Well, hikers would have gear,” T-Bag mused. “Probably thought we're carryin' tents an' everythin'. That'd be slower.”

“Hmm. So, if we start before sunrise tomorrow and keep walking into the night, we might make it tomorrow,” Abruzzi suggested.

T-Bag nodded. “I guess.”

“Then we're sleeping right now. I want to be out of here at four in the fucking morning,” Abruzzi said firmly.

They ate one protein bar each, saving the remaining five for the day to come. Both their stomachs rumbled with hunger, but neither man was willing to risk running out of whatever food they could find before they got to civilisation. They went outside to take a leak, and there was an old outhouse at the other end of the little clearing. It was one of those ridiculous constructions with two seats next to each other, as if taking a dump had been a social activity back in the day.

It probably had been, for all Abruzzi knew.

“'S like they knew we was comin',” T-Bag said with a chuckle.

The next challenge in their little three-legged life turned out to be the bed. It was a single, not in any way wide enough for two grown men, and there were no sheets or comforter, but the mattress looked tempting enough that Abruzzi was determined they'd get in it somehow. There was even a single pillow.

“How's about we move the mattress to the floor, an' I can sleep next to it,” T-Bag suggested.

It felt absurdly churlish for Abruzzi to make T-Bag sleep next to him on the floor after the other man had held his dick while he took a piss and then sucked it later just to be nice. He struggled with it for a few moments, then gave in.

“Don't be an idiot, we'll both fit,” he said, trying not to let his voice betray how stupid he felt suggesting it. “You can be the little spoon again.”

T-Bag laughed then; really laughed, open and relaxed and suddenly looking ten years younger. “Ah, John, you are a -”

“Mercurial man, I know, Scofield told me,” he said brusquely. He didn't know what to do with the way his mouth tried to smile despite his best intentions to look disinterested. “Bed time.”

They took off their trousers and shirts, but left the last layer of clothing on, because they hadn't bothered building a fire and the room was cold. They'd untied their blanket sashes and with a little effort they fitted one blanket over the mattress and laid the other one out for a comforter.

“So, uh, boss, how do we do this?” T-Bag asked, scratching at the back of his head. He seemed so much more subdued than he had been earlier.

“I'm gonna lay down, then you follow,” the mob boss decided. He laid down on his right side, T-Bag bending over the bed to allow him movement, and pushed their shirts – still dangling from their cuffed wrists – up to form a sort of pillow for the shorter man. Fortunately the bed was set against a wall, so he wouldn't fall out backwards.

T-Bag gingerly crawled in, facing Abruzzi, then laid down and did a complicated twisting manoeuvre until he was pressed back against the taller man, his left arm curled across his chest, his head resting on Abruzzi's outstretched arm.

“Christ,” he muttered, and Abruzzi could feel the stiffness in his shoulders.

“Alright, goodnight,” Abruzzi said, still trying hard for decisiveness. The narrow hips and firm ass pressed against his groin did not help at all with the decisiveness.

“Mm,” T-Bag agreed, but he shifted further away and tried not to come into contact with the other man at all, which didn't exactly bode well for their combined chances of remaining on the bed rather than on the floor.

“I'm not gonna bite you,” he sighed, then – hesitantly – placed a hand on T-Bag's hip. “Just get into the most comfortable position you can so we can sleep.”

At last, T-Bag seemed to relax somewhat and settled in. Abruzzi closed his eyes firmly and determined to sleep. He needed to get up early the next day to get out of these fucking cuffs.


	6. The Sixth Day

John Abruzzi woke up warm, hard and rutting sleepily into the body in his arms. Still hazy with sleep, he nosed into the skin right in front of his face and let his hips continue their slow rocking motion for another minute before he came far enough awake to realise what he was doing. To realise whom he was trying to fuck in his sleep.

“Nah, don't stop,” T-Bag murmured, pressing back until he was grinding his ass against Abruzzi's hard-on. “C'mon, John, keep goin'.”

Two things became apparent. First, that T-Bag was far more awake than him, and had probably been awake for some time. Second, that Abruzzi's dick could not resist the sound of T-Bag asking for more like that. It twitched, like it had been doing for days, and the taller man felt a sudden urge to roll over until he could fuck down into T-Bag's body.

That, for many reasons, was not happening. But he was so hard, and his dick ached with the need to come, and T-Bag was _asking for it_, literally voicing a desire for more. Abruzzi gave in and nuzzled against T-Bag's neck as he pressed his hips forwards again, tightening his grip on the smaller man's hip.

“Yeah,” T-Bag moaned.

Abruzzi ground his hips against T-Bag's ass, pressing his cock against the other man, feeling their heat despite two layers of cotton between them. He felt delicious heat sparking up his spine, and pressed forwards again. His dick against that firm ass was riling him up like a teenager.

T-Bag was attempting to get a hand down to touch himself, but he was lying on his right side and his left hand was handcuffed to Abruzzi's right. Abruzzi could feel his frustrated movements as he tried to touch himself, but didn't seem able to manage it.

“John, please,” T-Bag groaned, pressing hard back against the mobster. His voice was deep and dark with need, and something equally dark unfurled in Abruzzi's stomach.

He released T-Bag's hip and reached down to find the shorter man's dick already out of his shorts, hard and hot and leaking. Not giving himself time to think, he grasped it and began jerking. T-Bag gave a hoarse shout of pleasure, body jerking in Abruzzi's arms.

In short, jerky movements, Abruzzi thrust and rutted against T-Bag's ass, desperate to come, and the Alabamian thrust into his fist and moaned into the skin of Abruzzi's outstretched arm. They pushed and pulled, huffing breath against hot skin, until T-Bag gave a sharp gasp and Abruzzi felt hot liquid hit his hand. He grit his teeth and was about to take his hand back to jerk himself to completion when T-Bag began twisting in his grip again.

“Lemme,” T-Bag hissed, out of breath and flushed. “Lemme suck your dick.”

And was Abruzzi going to say no to that?

T-Bag twisted back around until they were face to face, then backed up on his knees until he was kneeling with his face over Abruzzi's hard cock. He didn't hesitate or draw things out; he just took it into his mouth and kept going until he choked on it, then forced more down his own throat. Abruzzi gave a shout of his own as T-Bag gagged once, twice, then pressed on until his lips were tight around the base of Abruzzi's dick.

Abruzzi came harder than he ever had in his life. T-Bag swallowed around him and took every last drop.

“Fuck,” Abruzzi gasped, shuddering with aftershocks of pleasure.

“Mm,” T-Bag agreed, swallowing one last time before pulling off, then coughing into a fist. “Please do.”

“Please do what – oh, shut up, Bagwell,” Abruzzi groaned, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Fuck's sake.”

T-Bag grinned up at Abruzzi, looking entirely too smug for a man who'd just swallowed another man's come. “Can't help myself, boss. Ya make it so easy.”

Abruzzi stared back at him. What the hell was he doing? Not T-Bag; T-Bag was doing exactly what Abruzzi expected of him. Well. Perhaps not exactly, but pretty much nothing dirty or sexual about T-Bag should surprise anyone. What was he, himself, doing? Letting another man suck his dick? Jerking another man off? Allowing this to keep happening?

He had a wife and kids. He wasn't gay. He didn't even like the other man. He'd been determined to kill him less than a week ago.

“Time to get up,” T-Bag said with a sigh, and his voice was hoarse. His throat was making his voice sound like that because Abruzzi's dick had been all the way down there. Abruzzi's face heated up.

“Hngh,” he muttered, then waited for T-Bag to get off him before getting slowly, stiffly, out of bed.

There wasn't any water like at the little cabin, and there was nothing of comfort to induce them to stay, so they went to the outhouse, then bundled their things back up in the blankets and set off. One of the blankets now had a stain drying white around the edges, and T-Bag kept grinning, but Abruzzi managed to keep his cool. This was fine. It would be fine. He'd get his people to come out with a hack saw and a fully loaded gun, and everything would be taken care of.

Fine.

It was just barely dawn when they started out, and about an hour later the sun came up. They walked quickly, following the same old dirt road they'd been walking for days now, and they made good time despite having spent days on little food and far too much activity.

“Guess you were right,” Abruzzi finally had to admit as they stopped for a drink from a little stream near the road. “About us needing the extra day of rest back at the cabin.”

“I ain't as stupid as I look,” T-Bag said easily with a shrug. “Thankfully.”

“Don't think I ever thought you were stupid,” Abruzzi mused. “Crazy, sure. Disturbed. But not stupid.”

T-Bag cast a sidelong look at him. “Much obliged, I'm sure.”

They kept walking, and they kept pushing hard to move faster. Abruzzi worked up a sweat pretty soon, and he could smell both himself and the other man. Could feel the fuzz on his teeth, too. They should have brought the toothpaste, should have stopped to wash in a creek, but the pull of getting somewhere safe was too strong. He could shower for a week straight when he got the cuffs off his hand and T-Bag out of his sight.

An image of T-Bag, naked and wet in the prison showers, came unbidden into his head. He pressed his lips together. What the fuck was happening to him?

They pushed hard and only stopped for brief rests. Twice they ate a protein bar each, unable to stave off the hunger any more. As the afternoon shadows lengthened around them, T-Bag began looking worried, and Abruzzi felt himself hesitate. Had they overestimated their own speed? Would they have to sleep in the forest again and go another day without food before reaching Walden?

Suddenly, T-Bag held out a hand to stop him. “Hear that?”

Abruzzi listened hard. Hear what?

There. A faint noise. A dull buzzing noise as if from... an engine! A car engine!

“Cars,” T-Bag said, eyes lighting up. “A proper road. 's gotta be. C'mon, lessgo!”

They hurried down the road towards the next turn, not speaking, saving their breath for moving. The road curved to the right, trees obscured their view of what lay ahead, and they strode on, and then, out of the green and brown foliage, a road.

A real road, asphalt and everything, running past the one they were walking in a T-shaped intersection. A car passed, then another going in the opposite direction. People. Cars. Civilisation. They had to be close to somewhere.

“Hallelujah!” T-Bag sang out, grinning widely. “Now ain't that a sight for sore eyes. C'mon, boss, time to hitch hike.”

“We reek,” Abruzzi pointed out, but he let T-Bag set their pace and hurried towards the road ahead. “And we look suspicious as hell. I don't think we should risk it.”

“We could kill someone and take their car,” T-Bag suggested lightly, but it sounded more like a joke than anything.

They reached the road and looked around. There were a few cars passing now and then, but not heavy traffic. There were no signs visible from where they were standing, but T-Bag got the map out and found their location.

“A few more hours, at most,” the Alabamian said, pointing out their goal: Walden. “I'd say we make it today, even on foot.”

Abruzzi nodded, prepared to walk however long it took, but just as T-Bag was putting the map away, a pick-up truck coming towards them slowed down and signalled that it was going to stop. T-Bag suddenly took his hand so that their cuffed hands were clasped in a far too intimate grip.

“What the hell, Bagwell?” Abruzzi demanded, trying to shake his hand loose.

“Cuffs are suspicious,” T-Bag said quickly, softly. “Hand-holdin' ain't. Follow my lead.”

The truck pulled up and the driver rolled down the passenger side window, leaning over. He was a young man, looking about Tweener's age, smiling helpfully. “Hi there! You need a ride?”

“Now, that'd be very kind of you,” T-Bag said, working hard on keeping his accent more generic and less Southern. “But I'm afraid we smell pretty bad at the moment. Our car broke down while we were camping, see, and we've had to walk two days to get back here. Mind if we just hop in your truck bed?”

“Absolutely, that's fine,” the driver said, looking relieved. He was probably rethinking his decision to be nice to hitch hikers. “Where are you going?”

“Walden, if that suits you,” T-Bag said, smiling up at Abruzzi with that normal-person smile. “Gonna get a tow truck to come pick up our car and tent and things.”

The driver jumped out of his car and opened the truck bed for them. T-Bag never let go of Abruzzi's hand getting in, and they sat down still holding on like they were at a romantic dinner.

“Some date night, huh?” T-Bag said, looking at Abruzzi with an apologetic smile.

The taller man nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Don't fall out, now,” the driver said, smiling at them. “I'm Dave, by the way.”

“Andrew,” T-Bag said. “This here's John.”

For the first time in his life, Abruzzi noticed his first name was entirely generic, and he was thankful for it. He didn't lie as easily as T-Bag.

Dave closed the truck bed gate, then got back in the driver's seat. Abruzzi and T-Bag laid down on their backs to make things as easy on themselves as possible, their blankets bunched up for pillows. Lying in a truck bed wasn't a comfortable form of travel, but it was safer than sitting up in one, and far more comfortable than walking.

“Thassit,” T-Bag sighed, staring up at the sky as Dave pulled back on the road and they began speeding up. “We're out. 'S gonna be smooth sailin' from here on.”

“I'm not relaxing until I'm on that boat with my new passport,” Abruzzi muttered, but he had to admit he was starting to feel pretty good. Get to Walden, find a pay phone, call his people and lay low until they got back to him. Surely that couldn't go wrong?

The ride was relatively smooth, and after a while, Abruzzi began to drift off. He woke up suddenly when the car stopped and a car door slammed. T-Bag was already awake, and holding his hand again.

“Next stop, Walden,” Dave their driver said, smiling blandly at them. “Is this an okay spot?”

They sat up and looked around. They were outside a small shop, and there was a payphone on the corner.

“Perfect,” T-Bag said. “Thank you so much, Dave, this was really helpful. I'd shake your hand, but I think I got engine oil and moss all over it.”

Dave chuckled and closed the gate after them, then gave them a little wave as he got back in his car and drove off. They strode up to the payphone and Abruzzi squeezed in, T-Bag propping the door open. They were both beginning to move rather smoothly despite the cuffs, and Abruzzi spared a thought to consider how well humans could adapt to new things.

He waited for the operator to come on the line as he didn't have any coins.

_“How may I help you?”_

“I want to place a collect call,” Abruzzi said. He gave the number and said to tell them John was calling. Again, bless his mother for his generic name.

The phone rang, once, twice, and he could feel the tension in his own shoulders. Pick up, pick up, pick up...

_“Yeah? Who's this? Is this a joke?”_

“It's me,” Abruzzi said, relief flooding through him at the sound of Derek's voice. He had purposefully chosen Derek, who was mid-level management, not really important, and probably not terribly interested in anything outside his own daily life. Chances were better that Derek wasn't busy, hadn't chosen sides in his conflict with Philly, and wouldn't question instructions too closely. Also, there was almost no chance the police and the feds had tapped Derek's phone, since he was so low on the food chain. He didn't even have a record.

_“John? Uh, sir? Holy shit, where are you? The boys have been going crazy since you disappeared!”_

“Plane went down,” he said briefly. There was no need to go into details. “I'm going to need you to take care of a few things, without discussing it with anyone. Can I trust you?”

Derek was beginning to sound excited. _“Absolutely, sir! I can get you whatever you need. Do you need transportation?”_

“I need a lot of things, but most of that we can get done after you come get me,” Abruzzi said, working hard to keep his voice firm and detached, like he used to sound before his stint in hospital. “Take a car, a discreet one, and drive to Walden, Canada. It's not far from the border. Bring money and papers, plus a bag of clothes and toiletries. Get the stuff out of the safe in my house and bring that, too. You know the one.”

_“Yessir.”_

“Be here tomorrow. Hang around the general store in main street when you get there, and I'll find you. And Derek? Bring bolt cutters.”

He hung up.

Turning away from the phone, he saw T-Bag looking at him with obvious worry in his eyes. The shorter man was poised to run or fight, and Abruzzi was pretty sure he knew why.

“C'mon, let's find somewhere to hole up for the night,” he said, as much to avoid discussion as to avoid thinking about what needed to be discussed.

They got off the street as quickly as they could, still holding hands in case anyone saw, and made their way towards the outskirts of town. T-Bag had seen what looked like an old warehouse on the way in, and they were going to see if it was a suitable place to lay low for a night.

It was, indeed, an old warehouse. There was metal shelving floor to ceiling, but it was rusted and clearly hadn't been used for years. The door was hanging off its hinges and the floor was covered in dust and old leaves that had blown in.

“It ain't sanitary, but it's indoors,” T-Bag offered.

They walked around the building to look for anything useful, but there was nothing. The whole warehouse was one room, with a loading bay at the back and the small open door they'd come in at the front. The loading bay was closed, thankfully, and the room was slightly less cold than outside. As they walked around the building, they struck gold: an old water pipe with a hose attached next to the loading bay.

“Lemme get undressed first, don't wanna sleep in wet clothes,” T-Bag said, then began stripping down, just like that.

“What the hell are you doing?” Abruzzi asked, looking around. “Someone could show up!”

“Not here, they won't, this place ain't seen a human hand for years,” T-Bag said dismissively. He was turning the tap, and a gurgling sound announced water was underway. “'Sides, I stink, and so do you, boss. I wanna wash the sweat off.”

Abruzzi couldn't remember the last time he'd been worried about personal hygiene before the escape. It wasn't something you thought about; you showered and moved on with your life. But being on the run, terrified and exhausted by turns, sleeping rough and walking all day through that god-forsaken forest, strangely made him acutely aware of how much a man could stink in only a few days.

Well. He probably wouldn't have been quite so aware if not for the fact that he was handcuffed to another man, and so forced into close proximity. They really did reek.

T-Bag was naked, the shirts swinging from his wrist and the rest of his clothes lying in a heap a few feet away. The water began gushing out of the hose, and T-Bag began soaking himself.

“Holy fuck, tha's cold!” he gasped, then closed his eyes and sprayed his hair, face and neck. He held the hose in his left hand and so Abruzzi had to move his hand with it. After briskly and efficiently scrubbing himself all over under the icy spray, T-Bag handed the hose over to Abruzzi and turned the tap off.

“You wanna keep stinkin' or you wanna get clean?”

Abruzzi drew a deep breath. “Give me a second.”

He removed his own clothes the same way T-Bag had – as well as he could. The shirts dangling from his wrists were bound to catch some water, too, but the thought of being clean again was just too tempting. He washed, but he never closed his eyes or let T-Bag out of his sight.

“Not gonna wash that beard?” T-Bag taunted, grinning up at him. “Got some moss in there, I think.”

Abruzzi didn't want to think too closely on it, but his scepticism of the other man had been fading for the past few days, and until that phone call he had been feeling, if not safe, then definitely in control around him. He hadn't been constantly worried about being stabbed in the neck. But since help was on its way, T-Bag had seemed different. Afraid, almost. And scared dogs would bite.

He washed his face with one hand, still not closing his eyes. It wouldn't do to become sloppy now that he was nearly home free.

“Better get these inside,” T-Bag said, picking up his clothes. That scrawny frame caught Abruzzi's eyes and he suddenly remembered how T-Bag had offered to let Abruzzi fuck him. “Gonna wait until I'm a little drier before I put'em on.”

“You're gonna freeze your dick off,” Abruzzi scoffed, but he followed T-Bag's example. They were already shivering with cold, both of them.

“Yeah, well, ya won't lemme warm it up with ya, so...” T-Bag said, trying hard for casual.

Fuck. The twitching again.

“Your dick wouldn't go anywhere near anyplace warm anyway, Bagwell, don't flatter yourself,” Abruzzi growled. He hoped the other man hadn't seen his dick perk at the thought of more sex.

“I wouldn't be so sure; your hand sure was awfully warm this mornin',” T-Bag snarked. He was smirking.

Abruzzi tried to feel angry, but he couldn't. The sex – no, not sex, just some messing around – the messing around had been far too good for anger. Especially the blowjob. And T-Bag had, despite everything, been extremely helpful since the plane had had to land.

He was also the reason they were in this mess to begin with, Abruzzi reminded himself. The whole handcuff thing, that was all T-Bag's fault.

Of course, if Abruzzi had just had a big enough plane waiting for them, none of this would have happened and he could have just had his pilot hack through T-Bag's wrist and they would have flown to Panama the same night as the escape. There was that.

“Could at least lemme get warm afore I put my clothes back on,” T-Bag muttered, looking at Abruzzi now with heat in his eyes. “Whaddaya say, John? Wanna try fuckin' me through my shorts again?”

Abruzzi's face coloured so hard he could feel the heat up to his eyes. “No, you sicko.”

“'S that so? How's about actually fuckin' me, then?” the shorter man challenged, standing up a little straighter.

“I don't -” Abruzzi began, but cut himself short when he felt his dick pulse hotly at the thought. Fuck, what was this? Why was his body so ready to accept T-Bag's suggestions, and why didn't his body care at all that Abruzzi wanted to keep pretending he was absolutely not interested?

“I don't fuck men, Bagwell.”

“I know,” T-Bag said, and – the audacity – took Abruzzi's left hand in his own two, then placed that hand at his own throat. “But ya like this.”

Abruzzi felt his fingers constrict around T-Bag's throat, just a little, and his blood rushed south to his dick. The other man was remarkably perceptive. He did like this.

“It ain't got nothin' to do with preferences, John,” T-Bag drawled, his voice a little breathy over the pressure on his throat. “'S just what's available. And willin'.”

“So just to be clear, you'd let me fuck you like this, just because we happen to be alone here with nothing else to do,” Abruzzi said, intending to sound mocking but finding himself more and more eager for it.

“I'd let ya fuck me 'cause I want to get fucked,” T-Bag said easily. “An' 'cause I need ya to know I'm still willin' to do whatever it takes. Whatever ya want.”

Abruzzi wanted it so bad his teeth ached with it. But actually fucking someone seemed so much more dangerous to his peace of mind than just getting a blowjob. It was easy to tell himself a blowjob on the run was nothing; just stress relief. Putting his dick inside another man was more than a little stress relief.

Still holding his gaze, T-Bag went slowly to his knees, Abruzzi's hand around his throat all the way down. The handcuffs clinked as T-Bag gripped Abruzzi's thighs hard, opening his mouth. Then he just knelt there, looking up at the mobster, mouth open and eyes dark. Waiting for Abruzzi to fuck his mouth.

Abruzzi released his throat to straighten up and draw a deep breath. Then he fisted his left hand in T-Bag's hair and pulled back.

“Suck my cock, Bagwell. Swallow it.”

T-Bag did, immediately and enthusiastically. He took John's slowly hardening flesh into his mouth, and he closed his eyes and started bobbing his head like he was enjoying himself. He cocked his head a little to the side and that goatee rasped lightly against Abruzzi's skin when the shorter man went deep again.

“Fuck,” Abruzzi muttered, tightening his fist in that dark hair. The other man was so good at this. How the hell did a man like T-Bag become so indecently good at sucking cock?

T-Bag's eyes opened again and locked onto his own. Their gazes held for a long moment before Abruzzi tore his eyes away and stared over T-Bag's shoulder instead. That open heat was too intense. Too intimate.

“Mmph,” T-Bag moaned, then pulled back long enough to mutter, “sure ya don't wanna fuck?” before he dove back in and nearly choked himself on John's dick again.

Abruzzi could only take so much temptation. He was a bad, bad Catholic, always had been.

“Get up,” he growled, yanking a little on T-Bag's hair again. “Stand against the shelves.”

T-Bag silently complied. Their shirts still swinging from his wrist, he led the way over to the metal shelving and leaned on one of the shelves, ass pushed out and back sloping from hunched shoulders to narrow hips. Abruzzi had to lean on the shelf next to him if he wanted to avoid breaking T-Bag's arm by forcing it back.

His dick wet with T-Bag's saliva, Abruzzi drew a deep breath and pressed against the other man's ass. T-Bag's shoulders were tight and high around his ears, and when Abruzzi's cock breached him, he let out a pained sound, but he didn't say anything. He was shuddering beneath the mobster's hands, but he made no other noises.

His body was so tight it was almost painful.

“Fuck!” Abruzzi groaned again, then began thrusting.

Then he paused. For a man who had said he wanted this, T-Bag didn't seem like he was enjoying himself. He didn't moan and pant, like he'd done that morning. He didn't make noises. He shivered, but it didn't seem like the good kind of shaking.

“Bagwell?” Abruzzi asked, stopping entirely. “What is this?”

T-Bag didn't respond. He was quiet.

Abruzzi cursed himself as he pulled out. Fuck. Of course T-Bag was just trying to make himself useful to the other man. Of course he was just demonstrating that he would, indeed, do anything at all to be allowed to live after they got the cuffs off. Of course he assumed, considering how Abruzzi had let him suck his dick, that the mobster would take this and run with it.

He felt sick.

“Bagwell.”

T-Bag had stopped shaking but he didn't turn around. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough with pain when he spoke. “C'mon, no need to stop.”

“I've done things I'm not proud of in my life, but I'm not a fucking rapist,” Abruzzi spat, glaring down at the back of the man still leaning against the shelves. He was still leaning over T-Bag as if keeping him there. “That's just fucked up. Why would you let me... ?”

“Told ya,” T-Bag said, and his voice was regaining some of its smoothness. “I want it.”

“No, you don't,” Abruzzi scoffed, and he yanked on the other man's hand so he had to stand up and turn around. “The fuck you don't, Bagwell.”

“I do, 's just that we didn't... there's no prep work,” T-Bag said, and for the first time since their fuck-up of an escape he didn't meet Abruzzi's eyes. “Gonna hurt without prep.”

Abruzzi grabbed T-Bag's chin and forced him to lift his head until he could glare into the other man's eyes. “And why the fuck would you think I wanted to do that shit? If I were gonna kill you, I'd put a gun to your head. If I were gonna hurt you on purpose, I wouldn't get my dick wet doing it. Christ, Bagwell, just because I kill people for snitching doesn't mean I get my kicks making you bleed for no good reason!”

T-Bag's eyes were guarded, closed off. “So if I had lube, you'd fuck me.”

Abruzzi's lip curled. “The only reason we're naked right now is that you want me to not kill you tomorrow after cutting these cuffs. You don't enjoy this any more than that kid you kept in Fox River did.”

Finally, _finally_, T-Bag seemed to wake up and gain back some of his energy. “For your information, boss, Maytag loved it. Wanted to get fucked every night. That boy would get on his knees for most everyone. Now, me, I don't get on my knees for _anyone_. I ain't been fucked by another man since I was old enough to shank anyone what tried. So when I'm offerin' it to ya, boss, ya might show a lil' _fuckin'_ appreciation!”

Abruzzi stepped back, but T-Bag followed, and suddenly grabbed Abruzzi's dick hard.

“An' if you're so opposed to fuckin' people until it hurts, why's your dick hard enough to hammer nails?”

Abruzzi slapped his hand away, snarling. “Watch your mouth, T-Bag! I'm not in a tolerant mood!”

T-Bag's eyes narrowed, then the shorter man yanked on the cuffs and bent to rummage in the blanket he'd been carrying. He straightened up and pushed something into Abruzzi's hand, and the mobster looked down to find a little plastic jar with a blue lid in his hand.

Vaseline.

Abruzzi, shocked out of his track, stared down at the other man, unable to say anything.

“Took it from that lil' cabin,” T-Bag said, his voice defiant now. “Been carryin' this around for two days, John, hopin' for you to finally get over yourself an' just _fuck me already_. It ain't that complicated. I want a good fuck. Especially if you're gonna kill me tomorrow. Might as well enjoy my last night.”

John Abruzzi absolutely did not want to think about that decision just yet. And he even less wanted to admit to T-Bag that he was entertaining some serious doubt. So he did the only thing he could think of: he popped the blue plastic lid off and stuck two fingers in the pot, digging out a big glob of Vaseline.

“Bend over, then, you fucking pervert,” he muttered, fully aware that this glass house had already shattered from all the stones he'd thrown.

T-Bag, eagerly now, bent over and resumed his position against the shelves. Abruzzi slicked his own dick up, then hesitated. Prep work, the man had said. He should probably do something to ensure this was fun for everyone involved. But he had no idea how to go about it, a lot of issues with touching another man just there, and creeping blue-balls from having been hard for about a half-hour already.

He settled for hastily wiping the rest of the jelly over T-Bag's opening, then held himself steady and pushed in again.

This time, T-Bag actually groaned. He pushed back, and Abruzzi felt heat sizzle up his spine again. His hand on the shelf next to T-Bag's head gave him leverage, and he used it to push in hard. Deep.

“Fuck!” T-Bag gasped, and he arched his back to take more.

Abruzzi's head spun with the other man. How tight he was, how he panted and writhed around Abruzzi's cock, how his skin was burning hot everywhere they touched. How he wanted this, allowed this, even though Abruzzi could kill him at any moment.

Christ, Abruzzi couldn't even kill him now. How was he supposed to kill a man who felt so spectacularly good and who willingly bent over for him?

T-Bag was leaning his forehead on his left arm, braced against the shelf, the handcuff straining even though Abruzzi's right hand was braced right next to it. His right hand was underneath them, moving in tell-tale jerks as the shorter man clearly pushed towards climax. Abruzzi was pushing and fucking and thrusting, both hands on the shelf clenching as he tried to go deeper.

So hot, so incredibly tight, so disturbingly good.

“Theodore,” he gasped, shoving his hips hard against T-Bag's.

T-Bag moaned and shuddered at the sound of his name. His hand went faster. “Yeah...”

“Come on,” Abruzzi insisted. He fisted a hand in T-Bag's hair. “Come already.”

T-Bag jerked in his grip. “Can't. Gotta... move.”

“What, move?” Abruzzi asked, confused, but then T-Bag gave a little shove against the shelves and leaned further down, arching his back until his hips were canted up. Abruzzi thrust again and the other man shouted a curse.

“Fuck!”

Abruzzi kept moving and T-Bag started shouting. There was something Abruzzi was missing here, but he didn't care, not when T-Bag was making those noises of shocked, unadulterated pleasure. His whole body was quaking around Abruzzi's dick, and he was moaning without restraint, begging for more. He was pushing back to meet every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, John, so close,” T-Bag suddenly gasped. Then he let go of his own dick to reach up and grab Abruzzi's free hand, and moved that hand from hair to throat.

T-Bag squeezed lightly around his fingers, and Abruzzi got the hint. He put his hand more firmly around T-Bag's throat and tightened his grip.

T-Bag seized up, hunched forwards, tightened around Abruzzi's dick until it was painful. With a drawn-out wail, he came, shuddering all over.

It made Abruzzi's head spin. He tightened his choke on T-Bag's throat even more, thrusting hard and fast, shallow little movements purely for his own pleasure. The heat, the tightness, the sounds of the other man as he _came on Abruzzi's cock_ were all too overwhelming. He wanted this to end, spectacularly.

T-Bag went completely limp in his hands, giving up control entirely, and the rush was too good, too sudden. Abruzzi groaned like he was in pain and came, jerking into T-Bag's body a few more times, heart racing and dick twitching.

What a ride.

Slowly, Abruzzi let go of the choke, stood up straighter and pulled himself gingerly out of the other man. T-Bag hissed as Abruzzi's dick slipped out of him, then followed carefully when the cuffs were pulled. Finally, they stood face to face, sated and tired and sticky. T-Bag was smirking. Abruzzi was blushing.

“I do declare, John. That was somethin',” T-Bag drawled, then sighed. “Quite somethin'.”

“You're making this weird,” Abruzzi complained, but he was staring at a point just above T-Bag's shoulder again. He was working very hard to process what had just happened.

“I am not,” T-Bag scoffed, affronted. “Jus' bein' nice, 's all. Wanna wash up again?”

“Should have just gotten this over with before we washed,” Abruzzi grumbled.

They didn't wash all over again. They rinsed the come stains off their skin and did a bit of strategic scrubbing, then hurried back inside. T-Bag was starting to shiver with cold, and Abruzzi was already rubbing his hands together. It was less cold inside the warehouse than outside, but it wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination.

“Body heat,” T-Bag said through chattering teeth. “Best way to get warm.”

Abruzzi knew that. Technically, he knew that. But he was honestly considering whether it wouldn't be worth losing a few toes to frostbite, if he could just stop the other man finding out just how little he wanted to kill him now after the last five days. Or rather, nights. One night in a little shed by the airstrip. One night in the open air. Two nights in a snug little cabin. And one in a ranger station where he woke up wanting to fuck T-Bag.

If T-Bag sensed weakness, would he act on it? Would he take his chances and try to kill Abruzzi, make a desperate last try for it before help arrived tomorrow? Or would he just gloat and smugly declare that he knew all along that Abruzzi wouldn't kill him?

“Please, John, I'm freezin' my important bits off,” T-Bag wheedled, then pressed his arm against Abruzzi's.

Heat soaked through his skin and Abruzzi gave in. “Sure. How're we gonna get warm fast?”

T-Bag once more had things worked out before Abruzzi had even begun worrying over them. One blanket on the floor – the one with an unmentionable stain on it – over a pile of dry leaves they kicked together. The other blanket over them both, skin to skin, spooning. The only clothes they were wearing were shorts and socks.

Like a fucking couple snuggling.

Abruzzi sneered into T-Bag's neck and wondered why the hell he had let it come to this. Couldn't he take a little cold? Had he lost both his metaphorical _stugatz?_ Wouldn't it be better to be ridiculously cold for a night?

But the heat was so good. T-Bag, despite being a scrawny asshole, gave off heat like a furnace. Coupled with Abruzzi's own warmth and the blanket covering them, it was the first time Abruzzi had felt warm since he'd gotten up that morning. When he was also warm because he was too undressed in the same bed as T-Bag, of course.

“'f ya wake up feelin' frisky, go right ahead,” T-Bag said with a yawn.

“Shut up, Theodore,” Abruzzi muttered, but he yawned right along with the other man.

“'m just sayin',” the shorter man chuckled. “Should still be fucked out enough that it ain't a problem.”

Abruzzi grit his teeth. “I might just punch your teeth into your own skull and warm myself on your corpse if you don't shut up. Really.”

A dark, throaty chuckle. “Mm, don't talk dirty, John, 'm tryin' to sleep here.”

Abruzzi grit his teeth all the way to sleep.


	7. The Seventh Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Abruzzi woke up before dawn the next day. Every inch of him not touching T-Bag was cold, and he shuddered, pressing closer and trying to find a way to touch more parts of himself to the other man. After this, he was never sleeping outdoors again. Ever.

He might just buy himself a little log cabin, though, somewhere cold and remote. Maybe.

T-Bag was still sleeping, breathing slow and even into the skin of Abruzzi's forearm. Abruzzi could feel the other man's ribs expanding rhythmically with each breath. When they were lying like this, quiet and warm together in the dark, it was easy to relax alongside the other man. Easy to fool himself into believing this was entirely normal and fine.

Abruzzi didn't even know what to do about the fact that he'd fucked another man, much less how he felt like he could let his guard down around one. He never let his guard down outside his wife's bedroom. Their bedroom. Was it even his anymore?

It wasn't like he hadn't cheated before. He'd hired escorts for important business dinners, he'd fucked a secretary once or twice after a long day running goods through customs with fake papers. But they'd all been one-night stands, insignificant, and most importantly, women. This was the first time he'd repeatedly cheated with the same person, the first time he'd ever had sexual thoughts about another man, and the only time in his life he'd felt anything more than a need to get his dick wet when he did.

It wasn't just that the sex was so shockingly good – Abruzzi had never thought sex with men would be something he could enjoy – it was that T-Bag made him feel like he wasn't such a bad guy after all. Religion or no, this was the first time another person had made him feel like he didn't need redemption, he was the better half anyway.

Of course, that feeling probably came from the clear fact that he _was_ far better than T-Bag, morally speaking. It was hard to feel like a good man next to his wife, or the pastor who said he could find forgiveness, or even Scofield, with all his good boy complexes. It was easy to feel like a stand-up guy next to Theodore Bagwell, even when the other man was continually helping him survive.

But T-Bag had to go. Didn't he? Didn't Abruzzi have a duty to kill him before he could get around to acting on his personal brand of evil? Didn't Abruzzi owe it to the public to make sure T-Bag didn't go on a killing spree or go after some kids or whatever it was he did when he was unleashed?

Then again, the Alabamian had acted perfectly normal for the last five days. Well, maybe not normal, but better than Abruzzi could ever have imagined. He had restrained himself, been helpful, followed orders and generally behaved himself, if you ignored the obvious sexual deviancy. Which, Abruzzi supposed, you couldn't really hold against him, considering they were consenting adults and all. He'd never really had a problem with men doing... well, things, so long as he didn't have to hear about it.

A leash, that was what T-Bag needed.

“John,” T-Bag murmured, and Abruzzi gave a start as he realised the other man was waking up. “'s a matter?”

“What matter?” Abruzzi frowned.

“Can hear ya thinkin',” T-Bag explained, then yawned widely. “What time's it?”

“Sun's not up yet,” Abruzzi replied. “And shut up about me thinking.”

T-Bag chuckled, then snuggled closer to the taller man and sighed contentedly. “Mm. Wake me when 's time to go.”

Abruzzi closed his eyes and decided he still had time. The decision didn't have to be made until Derek got there with the bolt cutters.

***

Just before noon, a beige sedan car cruised slowly into a parking space outside the general store. It parked and Derek got out, lit up a cigarette and leaned against the car, looking around like he was just taking in the scenery. Good man. Abruzzi decided to promote him a little, if he still had any pull whatsoever in his own family.

He retreated back around the corner from which he was watching, then turned to T-Bag. T-Bag was tense again, quiet and subdued, and Abruzzi knew why. Decision time.

“Derek's here,” he said, then looked down at the smaller man. “I don't wanna do this here. We're gonna go over to him, staying close so people don't see the cuffs, and then we're gonna get in the back seat, you first, left side of the car. He's gonna drive us somewhere more private, and then we're getting out of these cuffs. We clear?”

T-Bag nodded silently.

Abruzzi drew a deep breath as discreetly as he could. They walked around the corner and headed for Derek and the car, keeping their pace sedate and walking close together to hide the cuffs. If anyone saw them, at least they wouldn't look as if they were running right at that moment. Of course, if anyone saw and noticed them, they probably looked enough like something the cat dragged in that even polite Canadians would be suspicious.

“Boss,” Derek said when he saw them, and quickly threw his cigarette away. “You, uh, you okay?”

“Fine,” Abruzzi said, making sure to sound derisive and gruff. “This here's Theodore Bagwell. We're in a kind of bind, as you can see.”

He indicated the cuffs. “Find somewhere private to use those bolt cutters, eh, Derek?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Derek said, nodding, and opened the door to the back seat. T-Bag got in, Abruzzi followed, and Derek closed the door after them. Then he got into the driver's seat and they took off.

“Any plans after we fix the cuffs, sir?” Derek asked as they left Walden and headed out on the same road they'd come in on. “I've got everything you wanted me to bring in the trunk.”

“I need a boat suitable for a trans-Atlantic pleasure cruise, small enough to dock in unofficial harbours,” Abruzzi said, closing his eyes and relaxing back in his seat. They'd done it. He was out. He was nearly there. “Another passport, just in case. Then I'm going to Italy. And you can consider yourself promoted, Derek.”

Derek sounded very pleased when he yes-sired. There was no sound from T-Bag, but their hands brushed together, and the shorter man's hand was shaking.

They found a little road leading off into the forest, and Derek drove along it until they weren't visible from the main road, then stopped the car. He opened the door and they all got out of the car, T-Bag last and clearly reluctant.

“John,” he began quietly, but when Abruzzi just looked at him he fell silent.

“Here you go, boss,” Derek said, extracting a huge pair of bolt cutters from the trunk. “Should I cut 'em right away?”

Abruzzi held out his hand and T-Bag allowed his hand to follow. They each pulled a little so the link was held tight. Derek raised the bolt cutters and began pressing the prongs together.

“Don't go anywhere,” Abruzzi said, abruptly, to T-Bag. “When they're off. Give me a minute.”

T-Bag gaped at him, but held still as Derek worked on the cuffs. Finally, after a few soft oaths from the man struggling with the heavy cutters and the tough link, a soft clink followed the sudden release of tension and their arms snapped apart. The cuffs were cut.

T-Bag, remarkably, stood stock still. Derek, good man, busied himself putting the cutters back in the trunk and lighting a new cigarette at a discrete distance, although he was clearly armed and ready to interfere should he be needed. The bulge in his jacket where a gun holster went was reassuring to Abruzzi even as he considered the man beside him.

A leash. That was what T-Bag needed. A good, solid leash.

Abruzzi squared his shoulders and set his jaw, then looked straight into T-Bag's eyes. He knew what he had to do. He cleared his throat.

“You need a lift?”

The smile that broke slowly over T-Bag's face was a blood-red dawn warning of a stormy day ahead.

“Yeah, John, thanks. A lift'd be just the thang. Much obliged.”


End file.
